


Relapse

by TheUnforgivables



Category: Cliffton
Genre: Addiction, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rough Sex, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2013-04-25
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUnforgivables/pseuds/TheUnforgivables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Devin Renton thought he had his urges under control -- thought he didn't need to <i>do</i> this, anymore. But then Kalen blew up part of the Fence, became an internationally known terrorist, and needed a place to stay -- bringing his older brother Brendan and his friend Calla with him. With Devin's life shaken up, the only thing keeping him from giving in to the urges entirely is his best friend Wes. </p><p>When he thinks he loses Wes, too, Devin will do anything to get his next fix -- including using his friends. His "addiction" to pain nearly causes him to lose everything -- his and Wes's lives included. Despite Wes's insistence that Devin open up, Devin can't bring himself to -- can't bring himself to even face the risk of losing Wes again. But if he's ever going to recover, he just might have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [N3m3sis42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/N3m3sis42/gifts).



This is actually the whole chapter that [What're You Waiting For?](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/62478.html) is apart of.

The fuck is that noise? Oh, right. My alarm. I slam my hand down on it. Roll onto my back. Fucking hurts.    
  
Need SynthBrew. Can get it later. Gotta shower, get dressed for work. Groaning, I slide out of bed. Ignore the pain all over as I do so. Too much electroshock mod last night. Need to dial it back some.    


Thing is, last night wasn’t enough. Not enough pain. I wanted more.  _ Needed _ more. As I walk down the hall to the shower, I hope Wes isn’t awake yet. That he can’t see me. The bruises from last time faded. But I want more.  _ Need _ more.    
  
The urges are getting worse, too. Don’t like doing it to myself. Need someone  _ else _ to do it to me. First thought more sex would do it. Then rougher sex than usual. Haven’t wanted to have the shit beat out of me in a while. Not since Wes moved in. Not since  _ meeting _ Wes.   
  
But it’s bad now. Back again, haunting me. Don’t know how to fucking deal with it, either. Shower feels good, at least. Helps me relax, a little. Not enough, though. Need to keep it together long enough for Calla’s party. She deserves that much.    
  
Not like I fucking get why we’re throwing a birthday party for a robot. But, whatever. Brendan thinks it’s a good idea. Probably is. Might be able to loosen up some at it. Wes seems excited for it. That’s what fucking matters, right?    
  
Keep telling myself that Wes is the only thing that matters. Maybe it’ll keep the urges at bay for a little while longer.    
  
I hope.

***

  
Gotta fucking admit, this party is probably the greatest thing ever.   
  
It was hilarious watching Brendan make an ass of himself dancing earlier. Dude’s not so bad, I guess. And even Kalen’s kinda amusing me. Can’t even come up with a reason why he loves Calla, but he sure as hell gave it a good go after saying why he loved everyone else.    
  
Can’t stop myself from fucking giggling at it, either. Bury my head in Wes’s shoulder. Breathe in deep -- can’t help noticing how good he smells. Can’t stop from fucking grinning like an idiot, either. I’m almost in his lap. Normally I wouldn’t do this. Normally I wouldn’t even let him hug me.   
  
But it feels right to be so close. To see that giant grin on his face.    
  
** “ ** C-Can I touch your hair?” Wes whispers in my ear. His tone. It fucking kills me and I can’t stop myself from nodding. I never let anyone ever touch my hair.    
  
When his fingers thread through it, though -- the way they brush against my neck in the process. I fucking shiver. Inch closer to him. Don’t even hesitate to start teasing his neck with my lips, crawling even further into his lap in the process.    
  
The little noise he makes just keeps me going. Fucking wanted to do this forever. Couldn’t stop myself now even if I wanted to. His arms pull me in tighter, our bodies pressing together. Don’t give a shit that there are others in the room, I’m fucking committed, now.    
  
Except my stomach does this stupid lurching thing. Not now. Not fucking  _ now _ , damnit. Don’t want to stop now. But my stomach is protesting, making it clear to me that I don’t have a fucking choice.    
I sprint out of the room and towards the bathroom. If I’m going to fucking puke I’m not fucking doing it in front of Wes.   
  
Shouldn’t have sneaked those two extra X-Gel shots after all.

***

  
Walking out into the living room only to find that Wes isn’t there is the icing on the shitty cake that is puking your guts out. X-Gel shots don’t taste as fucking good coming back up. Never want to experience  _ that _ again.   
  
Guess I should go to bed. It’s late. Didn’t get much sleep last night. And I’m still sore -- might as fucking well sleep, right? At least I’m sober now. Wish I could find Wes, though. Figure he’s already asleep. It’s late for me, so I know it’s gotta be fucking late for him.   
  
I walk into my room. Turn on the light, nearly shriek and jump back a bit when I notice Wes is lying on my bed. Naked. Fucking naked.   
  
Don’t know why this surprises me. But it fucking does, okay? I turn the light back off. Try to keep breathing. Walk right out of my own room and find Brendan and Calla on the couch like they were before.   
  
** “ ** Wes -- he’s -- I found him!” Can’t fucking stop from gesturing awkwardly towards my room, either. Awesome. Probably look like an idiot.   
  
** “ ** Breathe, Princess.” Calla sounds so amused. I  _ have _ to look like an idiot.   
  
Still, I listen to her, anyway. Breathe in. Out. “It’s Wes. He’s in my bed. Asleep.  _ Naked _ .” Can’t keep myself from looking horrified. I’m sure I do.    
  
** “ ** Sounds like you got him right where you want him, Princess,” Calla laughs. “What’s the problem?”   
  
She’s absolutely fucking right. There  _ is _ no problem here. Still can’t stop my face from burning, though. I start backing up into the hall. “Guess I should, uh, wake him up.”   
  
I hurry back to my room. Almost fucking bouncing as I walk. Can’t feel how sore I am, now. When I open the door to my room and turn on the lights, Wes is sitting up on my bed. Smiling at me.   
  
Guess I don’t need to wake him up, then. I shut the door behind me and smile back. He’s still naked. Covering himself up a little, but I don’t fucking care right now as I tackle him down onto the bed.    
  
He  _ squeaks _ . Fucking squeaks, man. It’s adorable. I’m straddling him, now, my hair getting in the way of seeing that smile grow wider. I lean forward, pressing myself against him. Try not to worry about my breath as I kiss him, wasting no time. I brushed my teeth like three times, okay? And used mouthwash. My breath  _ better _ be fine.   
  
He kisses back. I can feel him tangle his fingers in my hair, his fingers brushing against my neck all over again. I moan into the kiss and grind against him a little. He pulls me even closer, gasping against my lips.   
  
Doesn’t take long for him to get bold. He grabs me by my shoulders, pushes me off of him and climbs on top of me. Way too quick for someone who’s as uncoordinated as Wes. And it just makes me fucking hot. Especially since I can feel him grow hard against my leg. Fuck.    
  
** “ ** Why are you still wearing clothes?” he mutters, his fingers already hooking underneath the edge of my shirt. I sit up some, letting him tug it off the rest of the way. For a moment, he just stares at me. Even licks his lips -- don’t think he even realized he did that, but it’s enough to get me aching.    
** “ ** C’mon, Wes,” I groan, throwing my head back against my pillows. Arching my back. “What’re you waiting for?”   
  
That seems to snap him out of it. His teeth are grazing my neck, whole body pressed against me now. His hands are all over my chest. Nails dragging against my skin. Moaning seems fucking appropriate as I writhe beneath him.   
  
Don’t know how many times I imagined this after we played that VR game damn near half a year ago. Don’t have to pretend that the guy on top of me is Wes, anymore. Because it fucking  _ is _ Wes. He kisses his way down my chest. Teases me with his tongue as his hands grab the sides of my pants. Tugs them right off, exposing me.    
  
I think he wanted this just as bad. He keeps kissing me, keeps tracing his tongue all over me. Like he’s trying to fucking savor me. As he kisses down my hips and along my inner thigh, I can’t stop fucking squirming. I want him to give me head. Want to see whether all of that talking he always does makes him a fucking expert at it.

  


I crane my neck forward a bit. Watch him as he worships me with his tongue. Sliding it up the underside of my cock. Shudder as he flicks it just under the tip, along the edge. I wanna close my eyes. Want to just lie back and enjoy this. But I almost can’t believe it’s Wes that’s teasing me like that. So I have to watch, just to be sure.   
  
He flicks his eyes up towards me and fucking smiles. Smiles just as he swallows me. His mouth is perfect. Wes knows what he’s fucking doing. I throw my head back again. Yelp when he grazes me with his teeth. He almost stops, his eyes huge. “Wes,” I gasp, putting my hand on the back of his head. Push him back down. “I like pain, okay?”    
  
Fucking understatement of the decade. So glad that all the bruises from last time are fucking gone. Wouldn’t want to explain those to Wes.    
  
Wes’s eyes light up again. He keeps going, mouth wet and hot against my cock. The harder he sucks the harder it is for me to keep my eyes open. To watch him. Fucking hot, though, when I can. Seeing his mouth slide up and down me like that. Should have done this a long fucking time ago.   
  
I can feel myself getting close. Can feel the pressure build as he takes as much of me as he can. I don’t wanna come, though. Not yet. Not fucking yet. I try and grab him under his shoulder. Pull him back on top of me. He gives me this confused look. Can’t help kissing him, grinding against him again.   
  
**“** I want something else,” I breathe in his ear, guiding his hand off my hips and between my legs. Don’t know if Wes has ever fucked a guy before. Kinda excites me that I might be the only one. Kinda want to  _ be _ the only one.   
  
His eyes are huge. Questioning. Fucking adorable. With my free hand I reach over to my nightstand. Grab my lube -- hey, a guy has needs, okay? Then he sees it and fucking smiles. I sit up some, go on autopilot. Not sure how much Wes knows, but I wanna ease him into this.   
  
After I put some lube in my hand, I take hold of him. Let my hand slide up and down his cock and tease him. The fact that  _ he’s _ moaning now -- that he’s got  _ his _ eyes rolled back like that at me just touching him like this -- it’s hard not to get carried away.    
  
He brushes my hand away. Looks me dead in the eye as he positions himself better between my legs. Lines himself up -- all the while I think I can’t breathe. All the air gone from the room. I want this so bad it hurts.    
  
I grab his hips, pull him as close as he can get without being in me. I need him in me. I need him in me  _ now _ . I can feel him against me, hot and hard and it’s all I can do to moan low in my throat in anticipation.    
  
That seems to be enough to make him thrust in me. Hurts, just for a moment. Feels fucking amazing after, the pain just making it even better. I groan, tightening my grip on his hips. Please don’t hold back, Wes. Please don’t.    
  
He doesn’t. Oh, he  _ doesn’t _ . I cry out as he slams into me. Dig my nails into his skin, into his back as he spreads me wide and pushes in me deep. Even grabs my arms, pulling them away from him and pinning them above my head. One-handed.    
  
I’m positive I'm being so loud that the whole house can hear me. I don’t give a shit. Wes’s lips are on my neck, on my shoulders -- anywhere he can reach, even as he keeps my hands off of him. Won’t let me touch him. Almost don’t need to, the way he’s fucking me right now.    
  
He’s wanted this just as badly as I have. Can see it in his face when he pulls away from my neck and shoulders. He shifts his weight, pounding into me. As loud as I was being before I’m even louder now. Want nothing more than to drag my nails along his back. Instead, I curl my legs around him, letting him go as deep in me as possible.   
  
Each thrust hits my spot, now. Fucking can’t hold out for much longer. The way his eyes keep rolling back, don’t think he can, either. I manage to pull one of my hands free. Hook it behind his head and pull him close. I never kiss the guys I meet on the Splinternet -- not  _ while _ being fucked. Too fucking intimate.   
  
Want Wes to be the only one I do. He moans against my lips. Into my mouth as our tongues meet, just for a moment. We break apart, both breathless, both so fucking close and both of our bodies at the edge of release.    
  
I don’t hesitate, grab one of his hands and put it around my cock while he continues to pound into me. I want to come when he does. Or close to it. It’s not a fucking race but I know he’s too close to back down. Not that I think he wants to. I cry out, probably screaming his name as I tense around him.   
  
Fucking hadn’t come that hard in a long, long time. He comes with a groan, his hand loosening around me as he soon comes to a stop.    
  
Never kiss those other guys, either, once we’re finished, but I can’t stop myself from throwing my arms around his neck. Can’t stop myself from kissing him, this time much slower than before.    
  
Guess he’s not the only one who wanted to savor this.

  
[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/63584.html)   



	2. Chapter 2

I’m awake. Don’t want to open my eyes. What if I imagined the whole fucking thing? What if I’m still fucking dreaming? But I’m resting against something warm. And soft. And it fucking smells good. I open my eyes just as I feel him shift. 

Wes. It’s fucking Wes. I grin. I can’t believe it. I can’t. 

“Feeling better now?” Wes asks, his voice quiet. 

I just scoot closer to him. Still can’t believe it. Can’t get over his adorable smile. Then he reaches for me, pulls me close. Traces his tongue down the side of my neck. Can’t stop the low moan that escapes me -- not that I fucking want to. I wrap my arms around him.

And then my stomach fucking screams. Not growls. Screams. Because it was that fucking loud, okay? 

Wes moves away from me so fast I’m left on my bed, blinking in confusion. “You must be starving!” 

“But...” Can’t think of words to say, yet. Want Wes.

“Aw, I won’t be gone long,” he murmurs. He kisses my forehead. Can’t help but relax again. “Trust me, dude. You’re gonna feel awful later if you do too much on an empty stomach. Hangovers are the worst.”

Not when you have someone like Wes. And breakfast can fucking wait. I want something else. Think he knows it, too. He looks torn before telling me to wait right where I am. “I’ll bring it to you,” he says.

Can’t help stretching out on the bed some. I smile at him. “I’m not going anywhere.” Because I’m not, okay? I’m not going anywhere. Not leaving. Not when I know Wes will be back. He bounces out of the room. Wonder what he’s going to make.

Have all the time in the world to wait for him. But even just sitting on my bed alone reminds me I’m still sore. Must not have paid that any mind last night. My breath catches in my throat. Last night. It happened.

My hair’s still down. Probably looks terrible. And I smell like sex -- must not have showered afterwards, last night. Should probably get one now. Brush my teeth again. Can’t have sex without feeling clean, first. Wes deserves that. 

Might have stayed on the bed five minutes before getting up and pulling on my clothes. Can’t let anyone else see any of my body. Need to get in the shower. Fix my hair. Getting up reminds me I’m still sore.

Reminds me that even though I have Wes, the urges are still there. Not as strong as yesterday. But there. 

Hope that what I plan to do with Wes later will help.  
***

When I walk back into my room, I’m disappointed. Wes isn’t back yet. He’s coming back, right? He did say he would bring me breakfast, right? 

I shake my head, run my hands over my hair. Not a strand out of place. Took me forever -- it didn’t want to fucking cooperate this morning. Or afternoon. I think it’s afternoon now. Has to be, if I woke up on my own.

The soreness does nothing to calm my nerves today. Not having work to distract me doesn’t help, either. The urges to get hurt are still there. Told Wes I liked pain last night -- just hope he’s willing to hurt me, a little. The thought gets me a little hot, but I try not to think about it too much.

Thinking only seems to make the urges worse. 

When I sit back down on my bed, the door swings open. Can’t stop the smile that sweeps across my face. Wes! And he has food. Takes me a moment, but then I realize what’s on the plate.

“You -- you made me a waffle sundae sandwich?” I breathe. 

Wes has this adorable look on his face when he hands me the plate. Don’t even think twice about digging in, taking it apart and eating it in just the right order. What? I’m allowed to fucking eat this however I want. It’s my favorite breakfast ever. Childhood favorite. Not that my ma ever made shit like this when I was a kid, but Eric’s --

I stop that thought. Don’t need to fucking think about that now. Wes is sitting next to me now, just watching me. Smiling. “Fucking delicious.” I need to tell him that.

And then our eyes meet and I know what else would be fucking delicious. I set my unfinished waffle sundae aside -- can always eat it later. Wes, though? Well, that can’t wait. I’m in his lap in seconds, my hands already tugging his shirt up and over his head. I press my lips down his chest. 

“Y-You’re not gonna finish your waffle first?” 

I can’t believe he’s even asking me that as I push him down onto the bed. Take his boxers off. Love that he walks around near naked. Makes it easier to undress him. “Saving room for dessert,” I breathe in his ear as I grind against him. 

Except he doesn’t look remotely turned on. Looks worried, almost. I try not to focus on that. Try to keep going, kissing his neck a little. I think that snaps him out of it, because when I pull away the worry seems to have disappeared. Good. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long, it’s hard to believe it’ll last,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me. As if I’ll just up and leave if he doesn’t. I get that, I do, but it hurts a little that he thinks I’d just leave him. I feel him pull my ponytail loose, his fingers tangling in my hair. “But you don’t have to rush. There’s plenty of time.”

Except there’s not. “There’ll never be enough time,” I whisper back.

I think I love him. Think I always have as I lean forward, kissing him. Unlike last night I keep it slow. Sensual. Intimate. I think I feel him melt in my arms. His whole body just relaxes as we kiss. I let my hand trail down the side of his neck and down to his chest, his own arms just pulling me closer.

We break apart. Don’t even wanna move -- except if we’re going to have sex I need to be naked, too. I sit up and pull off my shirt. Kick off my pants. The whole time Wes is watching, his eyes shining.

Dude, please tell me he’s not gonna cry. I get it, though. If he wants this as much as I do -- I cut that thought off, too. Lean down and kiss him again, letting him take the lead. Let him ease into things. Want this to fucking last. 

I settle between his legs. Kiss down his chest again. The whole time he’s whimpering, his whole body shivering. 

I decide I might wanna return the favor from last night. My turn to savor him. I take my time, grazing my teeth against his skin whenever I want to make him jump. Doesn’t like pain like I do, but his face is still blissful, content, even when I’m just a little rougher. 

I haven’t sucked anyone off in a long time. But Wes looks amazing sprawled out on the bed like this. I lick my lips before kissing just above his shaft. Kiss up the underside of it before trailing my tongue back down it. Wes is moaning, now, throwing his head back.

His fingers are in my hair again. Pushing me down as I finally take him in his mouth. The second his hand is on the back of my head it’s hard not to comply. The way he starts squirming when I do? Dude, well worth the wait. Can’t help smirking up at him as I take my time.

No need to rush, after all. There’ll never be enough time for everything I’d like to do to him but I’m going to take as much time as I can, too. He deserves that much. Can feel his thighs tense as I continue to work him over.

Shouldn’t be surprised when Wes pulls me up by my hair. Can’t keep myself from moaning at that -- fucking love it when my hair is pulled. His face is flushed -- not sure if he’s blushing. Probably is. 

“I-I want --” he starts, his face reddening even further. Fucking. Adorable. I grin at him as I slide back up his body, feeling him shudder as I do. I know what he’s asking for.

Almost want to hear him ask. But I think he’d just get more flustered if he did. Want him to be comfortable with me. I reach back into my nightstand and pull out my lube. Raise an eyebrow at him -- don’t need to ask as he just nods his head. 

Then I realize this might be his first time being topped. I prefer bottoming. But for Wes -- I’d do anything Wes asked me to. And if he’s never had anyone inside him before --

Almost can’t breathe at the thought. Lube up my fingers and press one inside him. He gasps as I kiss his neck, writhing against my finger. I slip a second one in him. His breathing’s changed -- his body tenses. 

“Relax, dude,” I murmur against his neck. “I won’t hurt you -- unless you want me to, anyway.” 

He fucking giggles at that. Can’t help smiling at him for it, either. Lean in to kiss him again as I start rocking my fingers in and out of him. He moans into my mouth, his arms wrapping around my neck as he pulls me close. 

I think I’ve stretched him enough. I break the kiss and pull my fingers out of him. I press into him, inching forward. Feel him tense again -- so I wrap my hand around him and stroke him. 

When he loosens around me I keep pushing forward until I’m all the way in. I close my eyes. He’s so tight. Feels fucking amazing. I even groan a little when I start to pull back out.

The way he moans as I do so just encourages me. I’ll go slow. For now. Let him ease into it. Keep kissing him, too. Everywhere that I can. Don’t know if I can stop kissing him. As slow as I’m going, he seems to be handling it well. His hands keep crawling up my back and down my sides. Like he can’t believe I’m fucking real. 

He’s squirming. Even whimpering. Then he’s grabbing my ass, pulling me close to him. “F-Faster,” he manages, his face flushing again.

Don’t need to be told twice. I pick up the pace, groaning into his shoulder as I do so. I don’t want to hurt him -- at this point, though, I’m sure I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Nails dig into my skin, scratching me. Wes arches his back, getting louder with each thrust.

He’s even trying to match my pace, now. His hands never leaving me. I want to take my time but it’s hard -- so fucking hard to do so when he’s gasping out things I can’t even understand. I just know that whatever it is I’m doing, I need to keep doing it. 

He also needs to keep digging his nails into my back like that. It hurts, but I need it. I need it now more than ever. Don’t have to ask him to hurt me. Just a little. Just enough to take the edge off. 

When he cries out for me to fuck him harder, I can’t hold back. I pound into him. Watch as Wes fucking jumps with each thrust. He’s panting and moaning. Can’t even manage words. 

It’s fucking hot as hell. I can feel him tense around me. I take that as my cue to start jerking him off. That just makes him even louder. Makes him squirm more. I only get to enjoy doing that to him for a little while before he comes hard into my hand. 

I shudder to a stop not too long after that, collapsing on top of him once my own orgasm has passed. I pull him close, let him curl his legs around mine. We’re both out of breath. I can feel his heart pound in his chest. 

And I don’t think either one of us could be smiling any wider.


	3. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Three

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/63584.html)  
Also, please please please look at the trigger tags.

I walk back to my room, unable to contain my giant grin. I’m even fucking whistling. Can’t believe I’ve denied myself this for so long -- denied Wes this for so long. As I open the door, I try to hit a high note whistling and can’t. I can’t, because I feel like someone punched me in the gut.

Wes has tears in his eyes. Biting his lip. Where the hell did that smile he had go? The one he had right before I went to go take another shower? “What’s wrong, Wes?”

Worst part is, he can’t answer me. He tries, opens his mouth to speak and shakes his head. Can’t get the words out. So unlike Wes. He can’t be having second thoughts, can he? I thought he wanted this. Wanted me.

Before I can stop myself, I’m forcing him up against the headboard of my bed, already in his lap as I kiss him. Please, Wes. Please. Don’t tell me that you don’t want this anymore. Please.

Except as my fingers hook under his waistband he grabs my arms. Pushes me away from him. My stomach sinks towards my feet. All I can fucking think is No over and over again.

“Devin, stop,” he squeaks. “Stop it. I’m not one of y-your -- I’m not one of those ‘friends’ you meet on the Splinternet. Is that -- is that all this is to you?”

The fuck? He -- he knows about that? My stomach sinks past my feet. Can’t fucking breathe, either. Probably about to fucking start the waterworks, too.

How the fuck could he think that that’s all he meant to me? The dude’s my best friend. I fucking love him. It takes a moment for me to regain composure. For me to harden my face. There’s no fucking convincing him now, is there? After all I did last night and today?

I stand up and move away from him. “Y-Yeah,” I choke out. Fucking get it together, dude. Now’s not the time to act hurt. Not like he fucking cares, anyway. “That’s exactly fucking it. All it fucking meant.”

His turn to look as if he’s been slapped. Don’t let myself think about that as I turn around and stomp out of my own fucking room. I’m halfway out the front door when I start sorting through my contacts on my Neurovision implant. Slam the fucking door behind me, too.

Time to see if I can make a visit to Randall. Need to be hurt – and now. Need to fucking bury these feelings and forget they even fucking existed.

Like I should have kept on doing, in the first place.  
***

I know I’m close to Randall’s place when I start seeing more whitewashed walls than you do in the rest of the city. About fucking time. He offered to pick me up, but I need some time to fucking think. Need to figure out how much I need. How bad I fucking need it.

By the time I’m approaching his place I’m fucking shivering. Even try to fix my hair -- though it’s already fucking perfect. Did just have a shower like an hour ago, after all. I shake my head. Don’t need to think about that now. Don’t need to think about anything as I make my way up the stairs in front of his house.

Randall opens the door before I even have the chance to knock. He smirks at me, letting me slip in past him. Don’t make it much further than that before he grabs my ass. “Your electroshock mod on?” he asks. I nod, biting back a moan as he just grabs me harder. If I weren’t fucking wearing jeans his nails would probably be breaking skin. Fucking need that right now.

Need way more, though. I let him push me towards his bedroom. He doesn’t need to, but he knows how rough I like it. How rough I want it. When he throws me onto his bed and crawls on top of me, I let him, no questions asked. Feels nothing like Wes. Close my eyes. Don’t want it to feel like Wes.

“How rough do you want it today?” he breathes against my neck. He’s kissing me, knowing he can’t fucking bite me where visible. But I can feel how hard he’s trying not to dig his teeth into my neck now.

But right now I don’t give a shit about that. “As rough as you can fucking make it,” I answer, groaning as I throw my head back. “Just no blood -- but you can bite and hit me wherever -- don’t exactly give a fuck, today.”

Those seem to be the magic fucking words because he grabs a fistful of my hair with one hand and wrenches my head to the side, exposing my neck the rest of the way. As he bites down I yelp, writhing under him and letting my hands claw at his chest.

He’s bulkier than Wes. Not quite like Brendan but thicker than Kalen, muscles rippling all over his body. Not my usual type. But Randall will hurt me. Will leave bruises and hit me and he’ll do it over and over until I can’t take it anymore.

And that’s exactly what I fucking need, right now. Don’t have any plans to say my safeword. Not after what happened with Wes --

Randall slaps me across the face, causing me to fucking see stars. I blink in shock before managing to laugh. Just like that, I’m hard and raring to go. He smirks down at me.

“Fucking wanted to slap that stupid look off your face for forever,” he growls. “You like that, don’t you, though? You fucking slut.”

Can’t stop the smile crossing my face. Or the little moan I let out as I grind against him. He straddles me, his eyes hardening as he reels his arm back. Try not to flinch as his fist comes down again, this time catching me just below the eye.

“Don’t fucking smile at me, slut,” he hisses as he begins undressing me, taking my shirt off first. I’m clutching my eye, gasping from the pain of it. If I could curl up onto my side I would.

As much as it fucking hurts, though, I know that one black eye isn’t enough. Not enough to quiet the urges. Not even when he activates my electroshock mod, causing my whole body to seize up as an electric current runs through it. A weak shock, but enough to make it difficult to breathe, impossible to move.

Once he’s done ripping off my clothes, he starts biting me. Everywhere he can. Can see the bruises blossom on my skin. Can see bite marks left all over my chest, down my thighs. He even teases me with light nips along my cock. Want him to bite as hard there as he has everywhere else. Can’t fucking speak, though. Another shock makes it impossible, my whole body spasming.

The biting’s not enough. Nor are the shocks. “H-Hit me more,” I gasp out when I can.

For a moment, I don’t think he’s gonna fucking listen to me. Then his fist comes down hard again, this time on the other eye. Before I can clutch that one, too, he turns the mod on again. As my body convulses, he forces himself between my legs. Pries them open. The shock wears off, my whole body shivering now.

Don’t even register it when he goes in dry. I’m sure it hurts, but I can’t focus on it. My face is aching, and so are the bruises, but I still need more. Fuck.

As if he read my mind, his hands wrap around my neck. Just enough to choke off air. Just as I start trying to pull his hands off my neck, he punches me in the stomach. Wind knocked out of me, he keeps going. Can feel how much it burns now, how each thrust hurts.

“You want a lot of abuse today, huh, you little slut?” he grunts, leaning forward and bending me in half to resume biting my chest. Fucking want him to punch me again. I squirm, manage to nod my head.

Don’t know what happens next. Think the electroshock mod got ramped up as high as it can go. Still not fucking enough. Want my heart to fucking stop. Think it might have fucking stopped.

Another punch or two comes to my sides, but I can see something change in Randall’s expression. He doesn’t seem to be getting off on this anymore. Hasn’t used the electroshock mod in a while. Hasn’t bitten me in a while. Not even sure if I can feel him inside me anymore, either.

Fuck, he can’t fucking stop now. “M-More,” I whine. Still need more. The edge is off but I still need more. Will always need more. I even force his hands back to around my neck. Don’t fucking care anymore.

Don’t have Wes anymore. Never had Wes, never will.

When Randall squeezes, it’s a fucking godsend. Can’t breathe. Almost pass out. Feels amazing. Need that fucking high. Need the fucking high of getting hurt, too. Then he fucking lets go, shaking his head.

“The fuck, Randall?” I bark, glaring at him. “Haven’t fucking said my safeword.”

He pulls out of me. Fucking pulls out of me. “Devin, I can’t,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing at me. “This is too much.”

“I’m the one who gets to fucking decide that.” I sit up, ignore how sore my body is as I do so. I size him up. Couldn’t fucking take him in a fight -- that’s exactly why I picked him for this. Why I’ve been seeing him whenever I wanted to get fucking hurt.

Just want to be hurt worse tonight, that’s all. Guess he fucking understands that, though. Notice he’s only half hard -- fuck no, I’m not getting rejected twice in the same fucking day.

“I can still take care of that for you,” I say, gesturing to his crotch. I lick my lips. Wouldn’t fucking do this but I’m fucking desperate. I crawl over to him, take his cock in my hand. Stroke him with slow, smooth strokes.

He shudders -- though the look of revulsion on his face tells me it’s not from fucking pleasure. Still, I don’t fucking stop. Maybe if I piss him off enough he’ll hurt me again. Can feel him get harder in my hand. I kiss down his chest, trace my tongue over the edges of his muscles.

Just as I suppress my own shudder, my mouth inches from his cock, he grabs me by my hair and pulls me away from him. Then he fucking tosses me aside, over the edge of his bed and onto the floor. Land on my fucking side, wind knocked out of me.

He stands over me, breathing hard and shaking. Don’t even fucking move to protect myself when I see his foot move. See his weight shift. His foot slams into my chest, taking the rest of my breath from me. I hear cracking.

But it didn’t fucking come from me. Came from his fucking bare foot. The pain is amazing. Blinds me. Even if he didn’t fucking break any of my ribs he came fucking close. Can’t breathe. Don’t want to fucking get up. Can’t fucking get up.

Can’t fucking stop myself from sobbing when he just limps away. Can’t even give me the courtesy of jerking himself off onto my face or some bullshit like that. Just leaves me there, broken and naked on his bedroom floor.

How fucking low of a human being am I if I’m not even worth coming on?

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	4. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Four

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/64234.html)

Don’t know how fucking long I’ve been lying on the floor before Randall throws my clothes down towards me. “Get up,” he barks.

Almost think he’s gonna kick me again when he doesn’t. Would have been all too fucking welcome if he did. I try and sit up. The pain’s so fucking intense I almost don’t think I can. Gotta move slower. Don’t breathe in too hard.

Try and focus on how much it hurts. How grounding it is. Pull my shirt on first. Can barely get that over my fucking head without being overwhelmed with pain. Getting up from the floor is worse. So much worse. Didn’t fucking know how essential ribs not being kicked were to fucking breathing or moving, but they fucking are.

My head swims. Make myself focus on the pain again. Try and let it fill me, let the high take over. Can’t. Too much. I sit down on the edge of the bed. Bending enough to slip my pants on takes almost too much effort. My fucking socks and shoes are worse.

How the hell am I going to keep this from everyone at the house? From _Wes_? Shake my head, gasp and wince in pain. Don’t think about that now. Gotta get home, first. Can fucking think of an excuse later.

When I finally stand up again, Randall hands me a cap. Just as I’m about to tell him I’m not gonna fucking put a hat on my head, I think twice about it. Take it from him, jam it on my head. God _damn_ , every little fucking action _hurts_. Fucking got what I wanted, I guess.

Still, how long is this going to fucking take to stop hurting? Don’t even feel my bruises, my chest hurts way too fucking much. Overpowering everything.

“I don’t think you’re gonna be able to walk home,” Randall says, snapping me out of my thoughts. I look over at him, raise an eyebrow. “I’ll take you home.” He’s not even looking at me, avoiding my fucking eyes.

Guess I’m too disgusting to look at now. Don’t know if I fucking _should_ let him take me home. Don’t want him to know where I live -- private fucking person. But don’t really have a fucking choice, either. It’s let him take me home, or walk. And I don’t think I can really fucking walk home, either. Too long of a walk. Can barely breathe without pain, let alone stand or walk.

“Thanks,” I mumble, looking away from him.

Guess I gotta think of that excuse sooner rather than later.

***

Decide I’m gonna tell everyone I fell down some stairs or some other bullshit when I get back to the house. Don’t think anyone’s gonna fucking believe me, but it should be enough to get them off my fucking back. I tell Randall to drop me off a block from the house. Still too fucking close for my comfort, and walking fucking sucks, but I’m gonna make it.

Lights aren’t on. Doubt anyone’s awake. Still, don’t want to be seen just yet. Kinda want to just crash on the couch -- don’t think I can even make it to my room, right now. I push the door open -- just enough to stick my head in. Don’t see anyone. Good.

Don’t fucking want to see Wes. Maybe crashing on the couch won’t be a good idea. He gets up earlier than everyone else. Don’t want to have to try and explain my appearance to _him_.

“Did you forget your car keys or something?”

The fuck? Why’s Kalen still up? Guess I’ve got no fucking choice but to walk further inside my own house. Try and ignore the pain as I sit down next to him on the couch, being careful to keep my back fucking straight. Hurts less if I do.

Hope he doesn’t notice. Guess he does, though, because then he asks of I’m okay. I’m fucking brilliant. Never been in more pain in my fucking life. “Yeah, I’m fucking awesome,” I bark out, unable to hold back a laugh. Fucking hurts.

Then he fucking asks me if I want to play SimFighting. You kidding me? But I can’t fucking tell him no, either. Gotta act as if everything’s okay. Can’t focus, though. Lose twice in a row before I realize there’s just no fucking way I can play right now. “Sorry, man, but I’m done,” I mumble. “Fucking tired.”

“It was nice to play with someone in person again for a change. Thanks.”

Wait -- why wouldn’t he play with Wes? Why the fuck am I still thinking about _Wes_? Can’t I fucking just let it go? “What about Wes?” Guess not. I pull off my headset. Can’t believe the pain I’m in just from that. “Where’s Wes?”

My fucking lucky day. Get turned down by Wes. Get accused of treating him like I would my one-night stands. Get the shit beat out of me. And now he’s not fucking _here_?

“At his parents’ house. He said he’d be staying there for a while.”

Fucking hell. Don’t tell me he left because of _me_. Don’t even attempt to ask Kalen, though. Not like he’d fucking know. After a moment, he gets up from the couch. Heads back to his room.

Can’t fucking find it in me to get up and walk to mine. Crashing on the couch it is. Not like I want to fucking sleep in my bed, anyway. Not after everything that happened.

Think the memory of that hurts more than my fucking ribs.

***

Showers used to feel fucking amazing, but even the spray is too fucking much for me. Try and wash my hair in half the time. Too many bruises all over. Can’t stand to look at myself in the mirror. Face looks awful.

Only thing that comforts me is knowing Wes isn’t here. He can’t see me. Can’t flip out, can’t demand answers. Not that I’d fucking give him any. My stomach grumbles -- guess I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday. Don’t really want to eat now, but I gotta get ready for work. Don’t want to go work fucking starving.

Not sure if I _should_ go to work either. I’ll be forced to bend and stand and walk and I don’t know if I can do a whole day of it. But can’t just fucking call out, either. Not enough warning.

I get out of the shower -- can barely move enough to do it. Get dressed -- my breathing’s fucking ragged by the time I’m done. Can’t even be bothered to braid my hair just yet. Too much fucking work to do so. Putting the cap on is almost too much fucking work alone.

Breakfast’s gotta be ready by now -- I know Wes isn’t fucking here to cook but I’m sure Calla knows how. Girls are taught how to do that shit in Final School. Not that I fucking remember much of Ninth Year, but I know that’s when they’re taught.

When I walk into the kitchen, everyone’s already eating breakfast. Fine by me. Less questions that way. Except Calla and Brendan are looking at me with these fucking matching horrified expressions.

“What in the screaming jeebies happened, Princess?” Calla demands. Fucking wonderful. “You look like hell.”

I look worse than hell. Not about to fucking say I agree with her, though. “Don’t fucking call me that,” I hiss. “And I fell down some fucking stairs, okay?”

I know she’s not gonna fucking buy it, so I start backing out towards the hallway. Can get food later. Or SynthBrew, at least. Can’t fucking work without that.

“Just _where_ do you think you’re going?” Calla continues.

“Getting some fucking SynthBrew,” I mutter. “Gotta go to work.”

The way her eyes flash, though, I know I’m not fucking going to work. “You’re not going anywhere, Princess.” Of fucking course. She’s getting out of her chair now. Crosses her arms over her chest. Wish I could fucking mirror her, but I really don’t want to move my arms right now. Hurts too fucking bad. Still can’t stop myself from shrinking back some when she glares at me like that. “Get your SynthBrew and go to your room. We’ve got to talk. _Now_.”

Don’t even bother arguing as I turn around and walk back to my room. Calla’s fucking marching beside me, making sure I do as she says as if I were a fucking child. Can’t really move that fast -- makes breathing difficult, the pain worse. Still, when we make it to my room, she shuts my door behind us.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” I stand straight. Easiest way of dealing with the fucking pain.

Then she fucking reaches out for my cap -- oh _fuck_ no. But as I try to stop her, I move too fucking fast. Cry out, the pain way too fucking much all at once. Wanted it before, still kinda want it now, but can’t fucking handle it either. Wonderful. Can’t fucking glare at myself over it so I glare at Calla instead. It’ll make her fucking leave me alone, right? God, I fucking hope so.

“You’re getting careless, Princess.” She sounds so fucking disgusted. She fucking should be. Doesn’t matter that she’s right, I _did_ get careless. But I needed my fucking fix.

“I _told_ you, I don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” Can’t even focus on the pain enough to get my shit together.

She looks torn. Can’t figure out what she’s going to say next. Not sure if I give a shit, at the moment. “Deny it all you want, Princess, but you and I both know the truth.” She doesn’t know shit. Not about to explain that to her, though.

But she keeps moving towards me. I tense, which makes me fucking whimper. Can’t even hide it, either. I know she heard it. She’s all but in my face, her own eyes narrowed. “You could get yourself killed, but I’m not sure you even care about that.”

Almost smile at that. Not sure I even care about that, either.

“But what about the rest of us?” Nope, don’t give a shit about the rest of the house, either. “The kind of person who would do this to you -- let you do this to yourself -- what kind of person _are_ they?” A fucking upstanding guy who likes it rough. But not as fucking rough as I do. “What if they found the house, hurt one of us?”

Don’t even give her a response. I don’t have to answer to her. Her eyes scrunch up in frustration -- weird, sometimes, to think she’s actually a robot. One I fucking helped build.

“Devin,” she continues, her face still too fucking close. “What about _Wes_?”

Oh, fuck no. I snatch my hat from her, ignoring the pain as anger flares through me. “Don’t fucking talk to me about Wes.” I jam the cap onto my head. Pain’s coming back now. Gotta fucking get out of here before I can’t fucking walk again. “Don’t fucking talk to me about anything anymore, okay?”

Wish I could fucking go to work after all, but only so I can keep focusing on the pain and nothing else. Not even Wes.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/65349.html)


	5. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Five

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/64554.html)

Fucking Calla. Fucking Brendan. Too fucking early for this. Do they ever fucking stop? Can she not be so fucking loud?

Can’t stand to be in my bed much longer. Still hurts too much to move, though. Fucking need to get up. Shower. Eat something. Getting out of bed sucks. Being _in_ my bed sucks. Don’t want to think about that now, though.

Showers hurt a little less. Still hurts to breathe or move, but I’m gonna fucking make it. I have to. Still haven’t been to work. Hoping I can after the weekend. Can’t stand being here all day with Kalen. Dude’s fucking clueless and doesn’t ask questions, but he fucking whines about everything.

Of course, the house is a fucking mess. Can’t fucking pick it up, either. Can’t move well enough to do that. Fucking driving me nuts. Still, it’s all I can do to sit on the couch and play SimFighting with Kalen -- wait for SynthBrew to be made. Can only use the pain to ground myself for so long.

The fact that I need more scares me. How much fucking more can my body take? It almost couldn’t handle what Randall did to me. _Still_ can’t handle what Randall did to me. Can’t get hurt worse than this, either -- could lose my fucking job. Don’t want that. Need the distraction. Anything -- anything to keep my mind off Wes.

Not surprised when Kalen hands me a headset. I take it, using it to brush my hair out of my eyes. Sure, I’ll play. As long as he doesn’t start whining. As long as he _plays_.

That lasts maybe ten minutes. Then he starts pointing out every fucking little thing that should be clean but isn’t. Shouldn’t be surprised when he gets up from the couch as soon as Calla and Brendan walk into the room.

“This place is a pigsty.”

Brendan’s got this look on his face. Calla’s isn’t much better. Can’t help smirking to myself. Let them bitch him out. Don’t have enough fucking breath to do it myself. “What do you expect _us_ to do about it?” Calla snaps. “We’re not your servants.”

Can’t help snickering at that. So fucking true that we aren’t.

“Well, who _else_ is going to do it?” Oh, this is gonna be fucking _good_. Calla looks like she’s about to laser him on the fucking spot. Kinda hope she fucking does. “Don’t the women on your side _usually_ handle the household chores?”

But it’s not Calla that comes after Kalen. It’s fucking Brendan, his eyes flashing as he grabs Kalen by his arms and lifts him off the couch. No fucking effort at all. Just does it, just like that. “How dare you treat her like that, you smug bastard?” he roars, pressing his face close to Kalen’s. Can’t help noticing now how the anger comes off of him in waves. How my body responds just to watching him. “What gives you the right?”

Almost want to say something to get that anger transferred onto me, but don’t know what. Too late, anyway. Calla grabs Brendan’s arm. Says something to him. Not fucking paying attention, though. Too busy imagining Brendan grabbing _me_ like that, getting in my face like that.

Kalen flops onto the couch beside me, startling me out of my thoughts. Causes me to look up at Brendan, my hair falling into my face as I wrap my arms around myself. I need him to fucking get pissed at me like that, too. Need him to grab me like that, hurt me, throw me around.

Don’t even bother to hide the shudder that runs through me, just thinking of it. Maybe _he_ can make the pain worse. Maybe _he_ can hurt me enough to get the urges to go away.

Think I need to go back to my room -- my pants have gotten too tight. Gotta take care of that before someone notices. Not that I think Kalen would, but just in case. Gotta think of ways to piss Brendan off. _Need_ to think of ways to piss Brendan off.

Guess I won’t be needing Randall anymore to get my fix.

***

Pissing Brendan off is harder than I fucking thought. Been trying my fucking hardest and haven’t gotten him to even grab me. Or even gotten him to get in my face. Calla’s always right fucking there, too. And when she isn’t, he’s still got so much fucking control over himself.

The urges are getting worse. Haven’t been in pain in a while. Wes still isn’t fucking back, either. Been trying to clean up some but Kalen always wants to play SimFighting, too. We’re playing right now.

And then the door fucking swings open. No. Fuck, did I really think he wouldn’t come back? Almost didn’t want him to come back. Have been dying for him to come back.

“I’m home!” Wes. Fucking Wes. “Anyone miss me?”

Want to say I did. But don’t want to draw attention to myself, either. Don’t want him to notice I’m even fucking here.

Kalen takes care of that for me. “You couldn’t give us a little notice? Do you have any idea what it was _like_ while you were gone? It’s been four weeks since anyone even cleaned in here!”

Can’t stand to see Wes’s eyes get huge like that. Full of fucking tears already. Cross my arms over my chest, look away. Can’t look away, though. Haven’t seen him in four weeks and all I wanna do is stare at him. Almost want to hug him. Make sure he’s real, that he’s there.

Fucking can’t, though. And it fucking hurts.

“Kalen.” Brendan -- guess he’s noticed his brother’s in Wes’s face. “Leave Wes alone.”

“Stay out of this, Brendan,” Kalen mutters. Keeps all of his attention on Wes, too. “I’m the leader, remember?”

A fucking shitty one. But Brendan’s starting to look pissed. Focus my attention on him instead of Wes. Can’t stand looking at Wes right now anyway, hurts too fucking bad. “Leave Wes alone,” Brendan repeats -- and oh, god, his tone. Fucking take in a deep breath, now that I can. Need to feed this anger somehow. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t do anything _wrong_?” I spit. Can’t fucking stop myself. Need Brendan to stay angry. To focus on me. “Are you fucking serious? He left. Let everything fucking fall apart. Not a thought for anyone but himself. Just like Kalen fucking said.”

Fucking accused me of treating him like my one-night stands when I gave him all that I fucking could. Let _me_ fucking fall apart. Fucking lost without him and he fucking left. Except Wes doesn’t fucking know that. Don’t _want_ him to fucking know that.

Then Brendan’s coming towards me. Can feel the heat in his glare. Almost fucking lick my lips. Been wanting this for weeks.

Except Calla then reaches out for him. Fucking stops him. No. Fucking _no_. “He’s not worth it, Brendan.” Yes, I fucking am. Fucking need him to grab me like he did Kalen. To hurt me. Need the fucking pain -- need it worse now, now that Wes is back.

But the anger is fucking gone just that fast. Lets her fucking drag him away into the kitchen. Wes is still standing there, his mouth fucking hanging open. Eyes still fucking wide, too.

“Hey, Wes?” Brendan says. “I’m glad you’re home. The house wasn’t the same without you here.”

Watching Wes go from fucking hurt to touched like that just makes the urges worse.

***

Fuck, I can’t get Brendan to even so much as look at me the wrong way. Haven’t been able to since Wes came home. Don’t want to keep fucking hurting Wes. Don’t want to use him to get to Brendan. Not fucking fair to him. Been only a few days, but Brendan’s fucking avoiding me even worse than before.

Think he fucking knows I’ve been trying to piss him off. But seeing Wes every damn day is too much, too. Can’t fucking stand it. Can’t fucking stand seeing him look so small and broken. Over me. Over fucking me.

Can’t call Randall. Even tried -- no answer. Dude wants nothing to do with me anymore. Can’t say I fucking blame him. I’d have let him kill me -- not to mention I fucking sexually assaulted him. Knew he didn’t want to fucking continue and I pushed him anyway. Fucking deserved that kick in the chest.

Been hiding out in my lab. Kalen can fucking play Wes in SimFighting. Besides, my lab provides me with comfort. Sort of. Everything in its fucking place. No Wes. Can’t even _hear_ Wes from up here. Work only gives me so much time out of the house.

They also can’t hear me when I cry out. Let my hands get burned -- just the tips of my fingers. Takes the edge off. Need the fucking pain. Need it worse than ever before.

I’d cut myself, but that’s more noticeable. Harder to come up with a fucking plausible explanation. Wes would fucking know right away -- and he can’t fucking know. Don’t want him to know. Don’t even want him to be concerned for me. Not like I deserve it, anyway.

I know the burns aren’t enough. It’ll never be enough. Think I need my bones broken. Can’t fucking afford that, either, though. Need to stay healthy. Need to find a way to pull myself fucking back together.

Did it once before, can do it fucking again. Just don’t think I’ve hit rock bottom yet. Don’t even know what that is, if Randall wasn’t fucking it. It’s obvious he wasn’t -- still fucking can’t pull it together. Not since Wes came home.

Focus on the pain in my fingers. Could burn other places. Like my feet. Would fucking hurt to walk, then. Would be in pain every day until they healed. Could deal with that. Would fucking help, would ground me some.

When I start pulling off my shoes, I think there must be something fucking wrong with me. _Know_ there’s something fucking wrong with me.

Still doesn’t stop me from doing it. Don’t even cry out -- or maybe I do, but not from pain anymore. Almost start touching myself from it. Not gonna do that here, though. Gotta get to my room, first. For a moment, I can’t even fucking move. Just keep breathing deeply, letting the pain fill me.

Why is it never enough? Doesn’t matter what I fucking do, it’s not enough. Then I hear voices -- voices coming up the steps to the attic. I throw my socks back on my feet -- shove them in the shoes. As much as it fucking hurts, it’s intoxicating. Almost fucking high from it.

“Devin?” Kalen. Fucking Kalen. Of course. “We’re holding a meeting, dude. I got a mission for us.”

“Be right there, dude,” I tell him, standing up. Almost can’t -- manage to hold back another cry. As I make my way down the attic steps, I can see Kalen at the bottom of them.

Hope this meeting isn’t long. Don’t know how long the pain will continue to ground me until it doesn’t, anymore. Don’t want Wes to notice I’m in pain.

Pretty sure he’d fucking realize I did it to myself.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/65601.html)


	6. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Six

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/65349.html)

It’s the morning of the fucking mission and I can’t get my shit together at all. Hard to eat breakfast knowing Wes made it. Knowing that he doesn’t even come out to the table to eat with us anymore. All because of me.

I ignore the way my hands are shaking. The way my feet still hurt from burning them the other day. We have to walk to the weapons stockpile. Don’t know if I can but I fucking gotta. No one knows about my burns. Want it to fucking stay that way.

I watch as Brendan leaves the table. Maybe I can fucking try and catch him alone. Just once more before the mission. If I can get him to hurt me now I’ll be able to ignore the pain in my feet later. New injuries would mask the pain. Don’t know how long I wait before getting up from the table. Not like I can fucking eat, anyway. Not with my stomach in fucking knots.

Except I forget he’s going into the kitchen. That Wes is still _in_ the kitchen. And then I fucking see them -- Wes with his arms around Brendan, his shoulders shaking and these pathetic whimpering noises coming from him.

Oh, fuck no. My hands shake so bad I drop my dishes. Ignore the ache in my chest. Ignore the fucking pain in my feet as I rip Wes off Brendan. Push Wes aside, try not to flinch when he slams into the stove. Don’t even look at him -- just focus on Brendan. If I look at Wes I’ll crack, I’ll fucking back down and I can’t afford to. Not now.

“ _You_ don’t get to comfort him,” I growl, grabbing Brendan’s arms. Not sure if I mean him or myself. Brendan looks so fucking shocked, like he doesn’t fucking understand what just happened. I get in his face. Just like Kalen’s done before.

Can feel him getting angry now, can see how his eyes narrow at me. Good. Just need to push harder. “Isn’t Calla enough for you?” I hiss, digging my nails into his arms. “She’s too fucking good for you. You don’t deserve her and you fucking know it. No fucking way am I letting you take Wes, too.”

I know I’m not fucking talking about him. Know I’m talking about myself. How I don’t deserve Wes. How I don’t deserve _any_ one. Never fucking have.

“Devin,” Brendan says, his voice low. Controlled. “I don’t like you, and you don’t like me. But I need you to listen to me right now.” And I need you to hurt me -- _right now_. Fucking do it, asshole. “ -- otherwise, you’re going to get hurt. I don’t want that to happen.”

Fucking _please_ hurt me. I think I gasp at the mere thought of it, loo. Bite my lip, a little. Fucking please get that angry. Fucking need you to get that angry, Brendan. Need you to hurt me. So I can stop hurting myself.

He then looks up at me and I can’t bite back the noise I make in my throat. See his face change from anger to disgust -- only to have him shove me off of him like I was fucking trash.

Can’t hold back my tears when I realize he’s not going to fucking hurt me. The fuck do I have to do to get my ass beat around here? I almost go after him, try to piss him off some more, but the moment is fucking lost.

Maybe I can get him to hurt me, later.

***

Can’t fucking believe it. Fucking Brendan shot a fucking nanoblaster in the house. And now we’re fucking walking towards the weapons stockpile. As if nothing fucking happened. As if it’s all fucking okay.

Kalen and Brendan are arguing about the weapons. Whether we should keep them or not. Doesn’t fucking matter, don’t think he should even be here with us. But I want him here, too. As long as I can get him pissed off at me again.

Don’t want the others to know that, though. So I listen to them argue. Wait for my fucking chance.

“I still think we should keep all the weapons,” Brendan grumbles. My fucking chance.

“And _I_ still think you shouldn’t even fucking _be_ here,” I tell Brendan, glaring at him. “According to the Splinternet, security on this weapons stockpile is twice as tight as ever since your stupid failed raid attempt two months ago.”

“Yeah, and dude,” Wes chimes in. Have to do a doubletake -- surprised he’s even talking. “Now we’re gonna have to repaint the ceiling in Kalen’s room.”

“Right?” Repainting’s not that big of a fucking deal. But shooting a nanoblaster inside fucking _is_. “Who fires a fucking nanoblaster _inside_? It’s barbaric. We should kick you out.”

“I should kick your ass.” Oh please fucking do. The way his eyes are flashing again, I might just get my fucking wish. Didn’t want an audience, but I’ll fucking take anything at this point.

“Come at me, baby,” I coo at him, batting my eyelashes.

Brendan fucking lunges at me. Can’t even bring myself to look startled as he grab me by my InvsiSuit. His anger is palpable. Fucking intoxicating by itself. Hold back a moan. Need to taunt him more. So close. So close to getting what I fucking want. What I fucking need. “Sooo manly, picking on a guy half your size. Makes me hot.” It fucking does. I fan myself, make a fucking show of it. I fucking need this.

Gasp as he twists my arm behind my back. Finally. Fucking _finally_. Let the pain fill me. Better than my feet, the way he’s got me twisted. Definitely fucking turned on, now. Still need more. “Mmmm, Brendan...” I moan, twisting myself around to get my face as close to his as possible. Hurts more if I do. “I had no idea you were into such kinky shit.”

Before I can even blink his hands are around my neck. Fucking squeezing so tight I can’t breathe. Don’t even want to breathe. Don’t care right now, just keeping myself focused on the pain. He’d fucking stop, right? Before it was too late? Not sure I even care if he does.

Must be cutting off more than just my air because I’m feeling lightheaded. Don’t even know what’s going on right now. Can’t focus on anything as my eyes roll back into my head.

Feel Brendan let go. Crumble to the ground with him, my legs unable to hold me up anymore. Fucking gasp for air. Try not to writhe on the ground, too. Instead close my eyes, focus on the pain, let it ground me.

Still breathing heavy, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m fucking ready to go or because my body is desperate for oxygen. Hope no one fucking notices. Wait to get up ‘til I’m no longer hard -- and getting up is almost impossible.

Guess Brendan really was trying to kill me.

***

Don’t know why we’re just sitting here, not even going anywhere. Want to go fucking home. Wes does, too. Can hear him whine about it.

“I already told you,” Calla snaps. Ugh, her voice. “We’re not going anywhere until these two numbskulls apologize to each other.”

“Not gonna fucking happen,” I manage, my voice hoarse. Hate the way it fucking sounds. Doesn’t get my mood across at all. So I cross my arms over my chest. Glare at Calla because I’ve got nothing better to look at.

“C’mon, Calla,” Kalen says, snapping my attention over to him. “You might as well get blood out of a quangum fruit. Let’s go home.”

Our fearless leader even fucking agrees with Wes. Part of me doesn’t want to get up, though. And Calla’s got this impassive look on her face, like Kalen’s words don’t fucking matter. “As soon as they both apologize.”

Can we just deactivate her and go home? Brendan could carry her. Don’t want to fucking apologize. Got what I fucking wanted -- even if I did almost get myself killed.

“Dude, when we _do_ go home, your brother’s not welcome anymore.” I snap my attention to Wes. First time I’ve really looked at him since Brendan choked me. His eyes are huge and apologetic -- kinda. There’s a hardness there that even I’m not used to seeing.

Brendan lets out this fucking whimper as he puts his head in his head in his hands. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Fucking wish I could shout, but I can’t. Fucking comes out more like a squeak. Fucking awesome. Must have breathed in too quick since I end up coughing my lungs out. Manage to glower at him anyway. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you after you tried to fucking _kill_ me?”

“Really, Princess?” Fucking hate that nickname. “You don’t think you provoked Brendan a little bit?”

Oh, I did. And I fucking wanted him to flip out. She knows it, too. Fucking knows that I got myself hurt. Called me out on it a month ago. Can’t let anyone else know that, though. Can’t let Wes think I _wanted_ this to happen.

“First of all, don’t call me ‘Princess.’” I really fucking need to stop talking. Hurts too fucking much. “Secondly, I provoke _everyone_ , it’s what I _do_. Thirdly, he tried to fucking _kill_ me. Does no one see a problem with that?”

Wes did. Don’t know if anyone else does, though. Don’t really fucking care, except Kalen opens his damn mouth. “Devin. Stop fucking talking.” Wow, got him to even say fuck. Must be pissed at me. “Just stop. And unless you have a death wish, stop taunting my brother so much.”

Should say something back but I don’t. Kalen turns his attention to Brendan. “Brendan, you shouldn’t have tried to kill Devin.” He sighs. Fucking _sighs_. “Even though he kinda deserved it.”

And then he fucking leaves. Just fucking stomps off into the abyss of the dessert without a fucking care in the world. I glare at his back a he walks away. Don’t want to be fucking left here, want to go fucking home, and Calla won’t let any of us leave.

The four of us just sit here in silence. Calla sits down next to Brendan. I clear my throat -- take a moment to enjoy the small amount of pain that brings me. Avoid Wes’s eyes -- which is easy, he seems to be avoiding mine, too.

After a few minutes Wes gets up. Walks off in the direction Kalen went. I try and call out to him, to tell him that might be a bad fucking idea, but I can’t find my voice. After everything’s that happened, I don’t know if he’d even fucking listen to me. Can’t just let him walk out there on his own, though. Doesn’t even have a fucking nanoblaster.

Before I can stop myself, I’m scrambling to my feet. Following him. Leaving Calla and Brendan behind. “Wes!” He doesn’t turn back to look at me, but he does slow down some.

“Go back to Calla and Brendan, dude,” he mutters once I’ve caught up with him. His shoulders are tense. He’s still not even looking at me.

Hard to swallow, but I fucking get that. I’d be fucking mad at me, too. Except I don’t want him to be fucking alone out here. Too fucking dangerous. “I’m not gonna just fucking let you walk out here by yourself,” I tell him -- it comes out more as a whisper, but Wes heard me. I can tell, because he glances at me.

He doesn’t say anything, though. Just keeps walking. Can see his eyes narrow somewhat in confusion. I follow his gaze.

Fucking Kalen. Sprawled on the ground. “Dude, you okay over there?” Wes calls out.

Hearing the concern in his voice hurts. He didn’t ask if _I_ were okay, earlier. I gulp, trying to ignore the way my chest tightens at the thought. Don’t need to fucking think about that now.

“Shut up, Wes!” Calla -- her voice just fucking carries over to us. Guess she can see what’s going on better than we do. Then a robot pops out of fucking nowhere, looming right over Kalen. Wes fucking _runs_ over to him, his eyes fucking wide.

_No_. Does he fucking have a death wish? I try and follow behind him, finding it difficult to catch my breath. Kalen manages to get away, but barely. Aims his nanoblaster at us before he realizes it _is_ us.

“Get down, you dimwits!”

Metal hands fucking grasp me by the shoulders. Know they fucking aren’t Calla’s. Can’t breathe. Don’t have any time to register what’s happening when Wes comes out of nowhere, screeching his damn head off.

And throwing himself at the fucking robot behind me. No. No, this can’t be fucking happening. This can’t be _fucking happening_. The robot lets me go. Grabs him instead. Fucking throws him around like a goddamned ragdoll and I can’t fucking do a thing about it. Don’t have a nanoblaster. Can’t fucking stun the thing. Don’t know if we _could_ fucking stun the thing.

Then Brendan comes out of nowhere just as Wes is slammed to the ground. I swear I fucking hear bones cracking. _Hope_ I didn’t when Brendan rescues Wes. Puts him down on the ground. Don’t pay attention to the rest of what’s going on -- can finally fucking move. Run over to Wes, ignore how my stomach is knotting. How I want to throw up. Tears are already in my eyes when I kneel beside him.

“Wes!” Please wake up. Please fucking wake up. Please fucking wake the fuck up. Can’t stop shaking his arm. Can’t stop crying, either. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

“Wake up, Wes,” I choke out. Keep saying it over and fucking over. He can’t be -- he’s not allowed -- not yet. Not _ever_. Haven’t told him I love him. Can’t even say it now, and he might be, he might be -- “ _Please_. Wake up. Wake up. _Wake up_.”

Almost cry harder when his eyes fucking fly open. When he smiles. Almost fucking hug him -- except I think he’s too hurt for that.

“Are you a princess or something?” he asks. “Because you’re really pretty.”

“Shut up,” I laugh through my tears. Never fucking thought I’d be so happy to be called pretty. But Wes is alive. Fucking _alive_. No thanks to me. He got himself hurt _because_ of me. “What the fuck were you doing back there?”

“Looking out for you,” he murmurs. Feel my fucking heart break. Maybe even melt. “What we always do for each other.” No, it fucking melts.

“Well, don’t do it again, okay?” Can’t stand the thought of losing you, Wes. Wish I could fucking say that. But I can’t. Can make him fucking promise, though. “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

“For you, anything.” He grins at that. Like he’s not in any fucking pain at all. This his eyes glance to my right. Can’t help following his gaze. Notice it’s fucking Kalen sitting right next to me.

Brendan fucking saved Wes. Fucking kept him from getting killed. “Tell your brother he can stay,” I almost whisper. It’s as close to fucking sorry I’m gonna get.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66163.html)


	7. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Seven Rewrite

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/65601.html)

“Can we go home now?” Wes gasps out, pain registering in his eyes. He still hasn’t fucking moved from the ground. Don’t know if he can.

“Yeah, dude. We have to get you home,” Kalen says, standing up from the ground. “I’ll go get Brendan -- he can carry you.”

I shake my head. “I got him,” I mutter. “Wes, can you sit up, dude?” I ask, turning my attention back to him. Wipe my eyes, too. Try and fucking hide any evidence of tears.

“Devin, you can’t possibly think you could carry him. He’s even taller than you are -- probably weighs more, too,” Kalen points out. “Not to mention you’re hurt.”

Don’t even feel any of that right now. Not when Wes grabs my outstretched hand and tries to sit up on his own. Breaks my heart, seeing him in pain like this. The way he’s breathing, wouldn’t be surprised if there were something wrong with his ribs.

“Kalen, I got him, okay?” I shoot back. Turn my attention back to him for a minute and narrow my eyes. “I’ll carry him.”

Kalen just shrugs and walks off. Good. Want to be alone with Wes for a minute, anyway. When I turn back to Wes, he’s got this odd look on his face. Even winces in pain when he lifts an arm. “Uh, dude?” Wes starts, his voice thick. “How’re you gonna carry me?”

“On my back,” I tell him. His eyes widen, but he just offers me this small nod. “Think you can stand? Might be easier that way.”

He shakes his head -- the action alone seems to cause him more fucking pain. Okay then. I turn my back to him, get as close to him as possible. Feel him wrap his arms around my shoulders. He’s being so fucking mindful of my neck. Can’t even feel that right now, either. Can hear him gasp and whine in pain as he scoots closer to me.

When I slide my hands under his legs and hoist him up onto my back I hear him gasp again. Try not to think about his weight pressing into my back as I get up from the ground. My feet fucking _hurt_ , and so does my neck, and maybe I _can’t_ carry him, but I fucking want to, anyway. Need to take care of Wes. Need to make sure he’s fucking okay.

Don’t even make eye contact with everyone else as we start walking back towards home. Can feel my own breathing get ragged again, how my throat burns with each breath. How heavy Wes is. Don’t need to focus on that, right now. Need to focus on moving. Getting the fuck out of here before any other crazy shit happens.

“Devin,” Wes murmurs against my neck. Know he doesn’t fucking mean to but it causes shivers to roll down my spine. “If I’m too heavy --”

I shift his weight on my back. Glance back at him a moment. “You’re not -- too fucking heavy, okay?” I manage, my voice straining. “Want to carry you.”

And I want for him to be okay. But my knees are buckling under the weight of the both of us. My feet are screaming. And my throat’s not doing well. Wes’s arms just tighten around my shoulders, the action causing his own breathing to hitch. “It’s okay if you can’t,” he breathes, turning his head so he’s no longer breathing against my neck. “I’m pretty heavy, dude.”

“Yet you’re the fucking skinniest one of us,” I joke, managing a small smile. Still don’t want to stop carrying him. Know I fucking can’t keep this up forever. Not for miles. Just want him close to me, for a little while longer.

I think I make it another five minutes before asking Calla if she can carry him the rest of the way. Trust her the most out of everyone here. Even if she fucking knows my secret.

Still can’t stop from hovering over Wes the whole way back. Think Calla fucking notices. Don’t exactly give a shit -- I can tell she’s pissed off. The way she’s holding him -- the way she fucking refuses to look back at me, even though she knows I’m fucking here.

What Brendan did to me wasn’t fucking enough, I guess. Can still feel the urges just below the fucking surface. Ignore them as we make our way back. Takes fucking forever, too. When we step inside the house, Calla lowers Wes onto the couch.

“Do you mind staying out here for a while?” she asks him. “That way you don’t have to be alone and we can all take care of you more easily.”

Want to say she doesn’t have to fucking worry about that, that _I’ll_ fucking take care of him when Wes shakes his head. The agonized cry he lets out has me rushing over to him.

“I’ve got him,” I whisper.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough, Princess?”

I flinch. My fucking fault that Wes is even hurt like this. My fault he was only trying to get the fuck away from me when he went out looking for Kalen. Don’t really give a shit now, though. He’s hurt, and I gotta do _something_. Let him know I’m fucking here for him.

Don’t even stop myself from lightly brushing his hair off his forehead. His face is so fucked up, bruises fucking forming everywhere already. My fault. My fault he’s fucking like this. Pushed me out of the fucking way, even if I didn’t fucking deserve it.

“Get Wes a FreezePack for his ribs, Princess, and don’t let him move around.” Don’t even look up at Calla as she talks. Just focus all my attention on Wes. “Come get me if he shows any signs of head trauma -- you know what the signs are, don’t you?”

Of course I fucking do. Used to have to make sure I didn’t fucking have any, myself. Back when I first struggled with my addiction. Nod my head.

“What about Devin?” Wes asks. Can’t stand to hear him be so concerned about me. “He’s hurt, too.”

“Devin can take care of himself,” Calla mutters. Can hear the disgust in her tone as she walks away. She fucking knows I pushed Brendan on purpose -- that I wanted him to fucking do that.

But right now, I don’t want to focus on the pain in my neck or the way my arm still hurts. Just want to fucking take care of Wes.

“I’ll be right back, dude,” I murmur. He nods, smiling at me as I get up from the floor. Almost fucking kiss his forehead before doing so. Walking still fucking sucks, too. Don’t give a shit as I grab a FreezePack from the kitchen.

Hope to fucking god his ribs aren’t broken because of me.

***

It’s been little over a week since the failed mission. Walking home from work is about as enjoyable as it can be. Know I’m gonna come home and find Wes still on the couch. Probably watching some ridiculous chick vid. Don’t know how he can fucking stomach those things.

They make him feel better, though. Know he’s not happy about not being able to do much of anything. Glad everyone’s been fucking helping out, though. I clean when I can. Kalen or Calla cook. Brendan helps with taking care of Wes.

Thank god his ribs _weren’t_ fucking broken. Can tell he’s starting to feel better. Try to lift his mood when I can. Fucking sucks, that I can’t do much. Want to do more. Not sure how. Sighing, I walk up the front steps. Open the door. As I step inside, Wes is grinning at me.

“How was work?” he asks, a giant grin on his face. Don’t know how he can be so fucking happy to see me.

Guess I’m happy to see him, too, though. Can’t help grinning back at him. “Work,” I answer him, shrugging out of my lab coat. I hang it up before walking over to the couch. Help him sit up some. Can’t stand hearing the slight whimpering noises he makes.

All I know is I gotta fucking make things up to him. Make him as comfortable as possible. When he rests his head in my lap, I don’t even fucking argue. It’s what he wants. Gonna at least let him have that. Would let him have more, if I could fucking trust myself.

Fucking can’t, though. Might try to use him to get my next fix. Couldn’t fucking live with myself if I did. Still, I put my arm over his. Reach for the remote and start the movie back up. Can’t even pay a bit of attention to it. Just keep watching Wes. Stroke his arm a little without fucking thinking about it.

Don’t know what I fucking did to deserve this. Even this much is more that I deserve. Yet he’s fucking forgiven me for everything. Can fucking tell whenever he looks up at me, the admiration fucking plain as day on his face.

Meanwhile I’m still fucking fighting the urges, struggling for fucking control. Never can get enough fucking pain. Haven’t so much as attempted to hurt myself since Wes got hurt. Think I can fucking hold out. Think I can get them under fucking control. For his sake.

See Calla walk in out of the corner of my eye. Can see the way her expression chance, just the slightest bit. Focus on Wes’s grin instead.

“Hey, Calla!” Wes calls out, his attention moving from the vid to her.

Guess I gotta fucking acknowledge her, too. Nod my head a bit, keep my attention forward. Try not to think about how obvious it is that she’s pissed at me. Try not to think of how I could use that to satisfy my fucking cravings. Don’t want to think about that at all, not with Wes right here.

“Hey, Wes. How you feeling?” Calla asks. Love that she doesn’t even acknowledge me. Just makes it harder not to provoke her, too.

“Getting better all the time, thanks to you guys.” Feel my breath catch in my throat as he snuggles closer to me. Can’t stop myself from tightening my arm around him as his huge grin gets even bigger. “You all take such good care of me.”

My heart fucking melts at that. Look down at him, unable to stop my own fucking smile. The fact that he can even fucking include me in that makes me happy. Wish it would fucking last. Know it fucking won’t. Still, I don’t wanna think about that as Calla walks out of the living room. Just want to enjoy the moment -- for a little while.

***

Walking home from work is so fucking quiet. Allows me to fucking think. Calla’s _still_ pissed at me. Can tell by how she’s fucking avoiding me even worse than usual. Know why she is, too. Want to use it. Not sure how -- don’t want Wes to fucking notice. Since he’s feeling a lot better now, he’s not taking it as easy as he fucking should. Can’t fucking stay still. Never fucking could.

It makes me smile, but I also don’t want him to fucking hurt himself. As I walk in the door, I can _feel_ his fucking excitement before I even see him.

“Devin! You’re home! Let me get your lab coat!” I swear he’s a fucking puppy. Except I can tell he jumped off the couch too fucking quick. He squeaks in pain. Fucking winces, too. Gives me an apologetic smile as he takes his time sitting back down. “Oops. I keep forgetting I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”

I fucking noticed. Still, I grin back at him. “Don’t make me tie you to that fucking couch.” The words are out of my mouth before I can fucking stop them -- before I even consider what I might be implying.

Wes, though -- he _must_ have caught my unintended implication. He gulps, his face turning fucking bright red. Oh, he’d fucking like that, wouldn’t he? Smirk at him and try not to think about him tied to the couch. Me in his lap. How hard I’d fucking --

“Hey, Devin!” Wes cries. Fucking snaps me out of the fantasy playing out in my head. “Wanna watch _The Great Love Disaster_ with us? We’re just about to start it!”

We? Then I notice Calla sitting next to him on the couch. She’s glaring at me, as if she wanted to fucking laser me on the spot. Want to say something to her, but Wes is already scooting over on the couch. I sit down next to him, see him reach for me out of the corner of my eye.

Put my arm around him, too. Cuddling’s okay. Can fucking handle that. Keep telling myself I need to do what I can to keep him happy. Make things somewhat even close to okay.

Except I can feel Calla seething next to him. Want that anger to be focused on me. Pull Wes closer to me once she gets up and walks away. Need to focus on him. On just him. I can fucking fight the urges. I can fucking do this.

When dinner’s done, though, and we’re all sitting at the table, I can’t help noticing the glares she keeps giving me. Can’t focus on those, though. Wes’s foot keeps crawling up my leg. Causing me to fucking shiver.

Then his foot drops away as Brendan compliments Calla’s cooking. “It really is,” Wes agrees, smiling at her. “You must have scored high marks in Domestic Preparation back home.”

“Wish _you_ could’ve been my DomPrep partner, Wes,” I breathe, sliding my chair closer to him. Of course, I don’t remember much about DomPrep. Not that it really fucking matters.

Calla looks like she’s about to say something to Wes but stops herself. Can see her expression darken as everyone continues to eat. Try not to pay it any mind. Can’t. But as I walk back to my room later, I can’t get Calla’s expression out of my head. Think I know just what I have to fucking do to get her to snap.

Don’t wanna fucking do it, though. Think I have to, if I’m gonna get the cravings to fucking stop. But I can’t give in, not if I want Wes to be happy. Not if I want things to work between us.

Already know that the cravings fucking won when I set my alarm thirty minutes earlier than usual.

***

Almost go the fuck back to sleep when my alarm goes off, but the urges are so fucking strong I force myself out of bed. Take my shower. Get dressed. In record fucking timing, too. As I walk down the hall, I can hear Calla still packing my lunch.

Almost turn around and go back to my room. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t do this. That I shouldn’t fucking push her. That I should just leave it the fuck alone and not give in to my addiction.

Knowing’s not enough, though. Not as I walk into the kitchen anyway. Not as I pour myself some SynthBrew. Calla’s giving me an odd fucking look. Like she can’t fucking believe I’m even in here.

Not sure I can believe it, either. Notice my bagged lunch in her hands. Half-way glare at it. Calla’s been putting the wrong fucking LaserAde in it since she took over making my lunches. Think she’s doing it on fucking purpose. End up with every color _but_ orange. “What kind of LaserAde’s in there? Keep ending up with the wrong color.”

“Green,” she answers. Her eyes fucking flash like she’s about to laser me. Seriously? This is gonna be too fucking easy. “If you don’t like it, Princess, make your own lunch.”

“The fuck?” I glare at her. “Can’t wait ‘til Wes is better. So much more fucking agreeable than you.” The fucking truth, too. Wes _is_ more agreeable than her.

She’s fucking glaring at me, now. Can feel her anger all the way from here. See her eyes glow again. Think she might fucking laser me when she drops my lunch on the counter and grabs me by the shoulders.

Almost can’t hide my fucking excitement. So much easier to piss off than her boyfriend. Took almost nothing to get her to even push me up against the fucking wall. Fucking pinned. Get a moment to enjoy the pain when she leans in, eyes still flashing. “Wes would never have been hurt in the first place if it weren’t for you, Princess. You don’t deserve him.”

She says it like it’s some fucking revelation. Like it’ll talk some damn sense into me. Almost fucking laugh. “Don’t fucking deserve him. Never fucking have.” Try not to fucking smile. Just a little further. “Eats you up inside, doesn’t it?”

Please, Calla, just fucking hit me. You’re a fucking robot, it’ll fucking _hurt_. Almost want to keep pushing, want to say I’ve noticed how her own boyfriend’s been fucking avoiding her when Wes is all but hanging off of me every second of the day. But it’d be too much. Can’t fuck this up. _Need_ this. When she moves one hand to my chest and pins me against the wall, I can feel my heart fucking hammer in my chest.

When she grabs my chin and fucking thrusts my head back against the wall, I whimper. Couldn’t fucking stop it. Except the little noise just seems to excite _her_ even further. Can’t keep myself from smiling, now. “That’s right, pick on the little guy.” Except I’m fucking taller than she is. But she’s got robotic strength. Can fucking throw me around like a toy, if she wanted. If _I_ wanted. And I fucking want her to. “Wanted to do this for a while, haven’t you?”

“Listen to me, Princess,” she hisses. I can feel her hand on my chest press into me even harder. Fucking yelp when she almost crushes my sternum. “Wes may have forgiven you, but I haven’t. I won’t let you keep endangering our lives. Next time, I’m firing the nanoblaster at _you_ , and it won’t be set to stun.”

Bite back a bitter laugh at that. “Thought you knew already, Calla,” I gasp out. Can barely fucking breathe with her hand over my chest like that. Don’t fucking care, either. Feels amazing. Intoxicating, even. Would fucking squirm, but I need more than this. “Don’t fucking care what happens to me.”

Maybe I _should_ fucking talk about Brendan. Can’t get much air like this, though. Think I might fucking pass out soon. Still, can’t stop fucking smiling. Know it just pisses her off further. Concentrate on the pressure she’s putting on my chest, let it fucking fill me. Spur me forward. “Haven’t seen Brendan around much.” Almost can’t fucking talk. Force myself to, anyway. “Guess you couldn’t forgive _him_ either.”

In a split second, her arm is reeling back. Open palm across the fucking face. No time to react to it, but the sting her palm leaves behind? _Fuck_. Can’t keep myself from squirming now. Or how hard I’m fucking breathing. Think I’m getting hard, too.

Not enough. Not fucking enough. “Hit me again,” I beg, my voice hoarse. Squirm worse at the thought of her hitting me again. “You know you want to.”

“Thought you didn’t swing that way, Princess.” I don’t. I fucking don’t but the pain, fuck, _the pain_. Fucking need more of it. Can jerk off later at work, just want the pain now. Doesn’t fucking matter _who’s_ hurting me. But she doesn’t fucking hit me again. “How _dare_ you use me to get your rocks off?”

_She’s_ one to fucking talk. I saw the way she shivered when she caused me to yelp. I look at her, almost bat my eyelashes at her. Still manage a smile. “The fuck you think _you’re_ doing right now?”

See her arm twitch. Think she’s gonna fucking hit me again when she then lets me go and stomps away. My legs wobble and I take in as much air as I can. Close my eyes, replay the whole fucking thing in my head.

Think I have enough time to go back to my room and jerk off before going to work. It wouldn’t take me long, now. Almost start touching myself right there in the kitchen. Make myself wait long enough to get back to my room, being careful not to slam the door behind me.

Try not to let guilt eat at me while I think of Wes, him tied to the fucking couch and me riding him, just like I had imagined the day before.

[Next Chapter (which is now getting rewritten)](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66350.html)


	8. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Eight (Rewrite)

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/70058.html)

Hate mornings. Fucking hate getting up. Don’t mind work, though. Can go to work, be someone I’m not. Still Devin, but Devin Fenton, not Devin Renton. Not the asshole giving Wes fucking mixed signals. Not the asshole who’d been fucking using their roommates to feed their addiction. Just a regular fucking guy who works at WeaponsDev.

It’s fucking insane, the sorts of projects they come up with. Grateful Wes makes me fucking lunch every day, now that he’s well enough. That the SynthBrew’s ready before I even step out of the shower. Could take the car to work. But not awake enough in the mornings to drive. Not well, anyway.

Know Wes is feeling better. Recovered from his injuries. Things are still a little weird -- pulled away some, after fucking using Calla like that. He’s talking a mile a fucking minute, too, the second I walk into the kitchen. Might be back to fucking normal, for us.

I grunt in the appropriate places. Let him hand me my SynthBrew. His eyes are bright, too fucking awake. Don’t know how he fucking does it. Don’t know he’s _always_ fucking done it. All I know is I rely on it. Need it, almost as much as I still need the pain.

Hope I don’t fucking go through that again, not after Calla. Don’t _want_ to go through that again. Have Wes, even if it’s as just a friend. More than enough. More than I thought I even deserved. As I sip at my SynthBrew, the words start filtering in. Not sure how much of it I understand.

When he hands me my lunch, I know I’m starting to run late. “Thanks, dude,” I tell him. Don’t even need to look in the bag that it’s got my fucking favorites in there. Offer him a smile -- best I can manage in the morning, anyway.

Ignore the way my heart skips a beat when he smiles back. As many times as I think about kissing him I don’t. Still don’t know if that’d be okay. Want it to be okay, one day. Don’t know how to tell him that. Have a feeling he feels the same, though -- don’t know how to move forward. Don’t know how to just _accept_ that.

All I do know is his hand on my shoulder. How grounding it is when he turns me around and gives me a small shove toward the door. Just want to stay here all day with Wes. The walk to work is uneventful, though. Gives me time to think. To clear my head.

Think work’s gonna be uneventful, too. No new projects in a while -- none that are useful to us, anyway. Shouldn’t be surprised when the meeting rolls around.

Can’t figure out why they’re presenting us with formal wear. Various dress and suit designs. The smile on my boss’s face as he reveals what the formal wear _really_ is makes me fucking shiver. Struggle not to grip my knees too hard.

They need _me_ to design the neural interface for these clothes. Make them undetectable, make them easily detonated by the civilians that will be wearing them. And they _will_ be wearing them. This side’s so fanatic about the fucking War.

Go Out in fucking Style. The fucking slogan -- minus the fucking. Fucking awful. And the public here would eat it up. Would fucking love it. Would buy these stupid outfits by the fucking dozen, give them to all their friends.

Makes my stomach turn just thinking I’m the horrible person who has to make sure these suicide bombs _work_. That I’ll have all this fucking blood on my hands. When the meeting’s over, I fucking run to the bathroom. Hide in one of the stalls. Make myself breathe, make myself calm down.

Fucking can’t. Fucking can’t shake the cravings for more pain, too. Thought I was fucking done with this. Thought the relapse passed.

Need to get back to work. Need to act as if everything’s fucking normal. That this is all fucking okay with me. When I return to my station, I avoid my coworkers’ eyes.

Try not to scratch the fuck out of my arms before I start designing the interface, my stomach turning the whole fucking time.

***

Getting home didn’t make me feel any fucking better. Dinner’s done. Can’t really fucking eat. Try to, for Wes’s sake. He made dinner. Would be fucking delicious, too, if I could get my stomach to fucking settle for a few fucking minutes.

Can see him shoot me worried glances. The way he keeps glancing at me makes it even harder to eat. Makes it harder to keep my hands from fucking shaking. Still want to claw up my arms. Can’t. Don’t want to go to bed in a few hours. Don’t want to be left fucking alone with myself.

Wes seems to sense this. Takes my plate once I’m done. Hands me another cup of SynthBrew even though it’s not a good idea for me to have another one so late. Brendan, Calla, and Kalen have all left the table. Left us alone in the dining room.

“You gonna be okay, dude?” Wes asks, sitting down in his chair and scooting it close to me.

How can he care so much? Not fucking worth it. Never fucking was. Never fucking will be. Look away from him, hide my wince. “Yeah, dude.” Not like I have a fucking choice. It’s either be okay or give in to my addiction. Don’t want to fucking give in to my addiction. _Do_ want to fucking be okay.

But the urges are creeping up again. Have been all fucking day, since the meeting. Don’t think I’ll ever be fucking “okay.” Gonna fucking try, though. For Wes. Was okay before, can do it fucking again. Just have to fucking fight this.

I push my cup of SynthBrew aside. “Think I’m gonna go to bed early tonight, man. Fucking tired,” I tell him. Avoid his eyes. Know they’re wide and concerned, anyway. Don’t need to look at them to know that.

Not like sleep’s gonna come easy. Still doesn’t stop me from walking away from the table. From walking away from Wes. I don’t deserve his concern, anyway. Fucking horrible person no matter what. Been horrible to him. Horrible to Brendan and Calla. Horrible at work.

I’d go upstairs to my lab but last time I was alone up there I fucking caved. Burned my feet. They’re still a little fucked up from it. Think all that walking we did days afterwards screwed them up. At the time I didn’t fucking care.

At the time I didn’t fucking care about _anything_.

My room’s not much better. But it’s away from everyone. Can let myself fucking cry if I wanted to. No one would fucking see. No one would fucking know. I change into my pajamas. Curl up on my bed.

Know I’m not going to be able to fucking sleep. But I can’t hold the tears back anymore. It’s cry, or hurt myself. Don’t want to fucking hurt myself. Can’t go back down that road. Not again. Need to recover.

Hope when sleep fucking comes there aren’t any fucking nightmares.

***

The next morning, Wes is fucking determined to cheer me up. Even drags me out to this NebulaQuest museum that just opened up in the City. The NebulaQuest Museum had to have been the best fucking thing that happened since Wes came back and I couldn’t even enjoy his happiness for a whole fucking day. One whole fucking day. All I could have fucking asked for. And yet I had a damn near panic attack in the car on the way home.

The rest of the car ride home, we’re both quiet. Wes is so fucking concerned about me. Feel like I might cry again. Want to scratch up my arms. Want to burn my hands. Anything. Know I can’t. Know that will only make things worse. Cause me to spiral.

Already fucking spiraling. Don’t need any extra help with that. Don’t want to take him with me. Afraid I already fucking am. As much as he fucking cares, he’ll let himself get sucked into my bullshit. Can’t let that fucking happen.

When we get home, he squeezes me so tight I can’t fucking breathe. There was a time where I fucking wouldn’t let him do this. Still don’t think I deserve it -- almost fucking push him away. Still want to talk to him about my addiction. Know it’s a bad idea to.

He’s got enough to worry about, already. Needs to worry about himself more and less about me. Don’t think I could convince him to do that, though. Not now. “It’ll be okay, Devin,” he whispers as his arms tighten even more around me. “ _We’ll_ be okay.”

Not if I don’t fucking get it together, we won’t. Go to tell him that as he pulls away from me. Deserves to know that much. He’s my best fucking friend, I should be able to fucking tell him. Know that he wouldn’t judge me.

That he wouldn’t _love_ me any less.

The realization hits me harder than my one from in the car -- when I realized I was _his_ addiction. Takes my fucking breath away. Before I can fucking breathe again, he leans in. Eyes fucking closing.

Can’t let him kiss me. _Want_ him to kiss me, though. Put up my hand to stop him. Grimace as I turn away from him. “Wes, stop,” I murmur. My own voice is fucking tiny. Pained.

He flinches, but stops. His eyes are huge, hurt. I bite my lip and look away. Can’t stand knowing I hurt him again. Don’t deserve him, though. Not until I make it right. Not until I get my shit together.

“Why?” he asks, his voice cracking. “Devin, I --” He cuts himself off, backs away and shakes his head. “Nevermind, dude. Let’s go in, okay?”

As hurt as he is right now, it’s better than letting him think that this could work, only to find that it fucking won’t. Because I’m too fucked up. “Yeah, dude,” I say, shoving my hands in my fucking pockets. Want to scratch up my arms even worse now. Can’t. Won’t. Not in front of Wes. Not as long as I can fucking help it.

So much for this trip out cheering me up. Think I just ruined the whole night for me _and_ Wes. Awesome. As I follow him inside, I notice how his fucking shoulders are slumped. How defeated he fucking looks.

Can’t help thinking I must look just as defeated as he does.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66598.html)


	9. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Nine (Rewrite)

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66350.html)

Don’t think that talking to Kalen was a good fucking idea. Didn’t have anywhere else to fucking turn, though. Wasn’t gonna talk to Wes. Wasn’t gonna talk to Calla -- not that I think she fucking wants to talk to me, anyway. And no way was I about to fucking talk to Brendan.

Thought talking to Kalen would fucking help. Would make me feel better. Give me a fucking plan. A way to make shit up to _everyone_ , most of all Wes.

Almost felt better last night when the conversation ended. Almost felt good with myself, for agreeing to do the deprogramming on Brendan. Don’t feel so good now. Urges still there, waiting to be fulfilled. Fucking can’t get rid of them no matter what I do.

But they’re subdued. When I look at Wes they go away. For a little while. Still have to go to work, though. Still have to fucking work on the neural interface for the men’s suit. Just like that, I’m walking to work and dreading every fucking step I take yet again.

Can’t fucking escape being a horrible person no matter where I go. Should strengthen my resolve. It doesn’t. Not when work reminds me of how bad a person I am. Not when I still want to claw my arms open when walking _home_ from work. Wes’s been kinda avoiding me again after the _NebulaQuest_ museum, too.

Wish I didn’t push him away. But I knew I fucking couldn’t let him kiss me. Not then. We’re not okay. _I’m_ not okay. Didn’t want to bring him down with me. Never wanted to. Can’t help thinking I already am, now that I’m sure he loves me. That I’m his fucking addiction.

Gotta be about a week before I can’t fucking take it anymore. Keep fucking flip-flopping. Know Kalen wants me to do deprogramming. Thinks it’ll be good for Brendan. Be good for me. Help me feel better.

But it means putting myself in a position where I could get hurt. Bad. And as much as I crave the pain right now, that can’t be a good thing, right? But if this will fix everything -- if this will make it so I can deserve Wes --

And I want Wes so bad. Almost need him. Crave him just as bad as the pain. Not fair to him, to have to come second to my fucking addiction. Don’t want to do that to him. Doesn’t deserve that.

But I know Kalen didn’t even get what I was trying to tell him. Dude’s clueless, doesn’t even realize that his brother and Calla are together. Wasn’t real clear with him, either, when I talked to him.

Maybe I can talk to Wes. Think I _should_ talk to Wes. Doing it for him, most of all. If _he_ thinks it’s an awful idea then maybe I can convince myself not to do it.

Kinda not sure I should. Not if it’ll just feed the addiction worse.

When I walk into the house, Wes is already there. Ready to take my lab coat from me. Don’t even stop him from taking it from me as I slide it off my shoulders. Avoid his eyes as he sits back down on the couch. Scoots over some and hands me a headset.

“You okay, dude?”

If I had a queem for every time he asked me that. Sighing, I sit down next to him. Take the headset and put it in my lap. “Yeah,” I say as I start undoing my braid, combing it out. “Just fucking work, man. Fucking brutal.”

It fucking is. Knowing that what I’ve been designing will kill countless numbers of people. Both from this side and the Other Side. _My_ side. Wes starts up the game just as I throw my headset on.

Want to talk to him about the deprogramming. Need to talk to him about the deprogramming. See what he thinks. Can’t find the words to say, though. Not sure I want him to know I tried to confide in Kalen and not him. Not that I don’t trust him. I’d trust Wes with my life. But my addiction -- well, I don’t want him to know the ugliest parts of me.

Think I win a few times before I open my mouth. Before I force the fucking words out of them. “You know that deprogramming thing you found in your research?” I try and sound casual. Not sure I fucking do. Might even sound _too_ casual, despite how my heart’s fucking hammering around in my chest. Fucking hard to breathe, too.

“Yeah, dude.” Wes sounds dismayed. Unsure, even. Not sure he’ll like what I’m about to say next.

“Kalen wants me to try it. For Brendan.” Feel my jaw tighten as I saw Brendan’s name. I’m not afraid of him. I’m not. More afraid of myself, and what I’ve already done to him. What I’d do to him if we were locked in a room with each other.

Glance at Wes. Notice the small frown he’s got on his face. The way his eyes can’t seem to focus. Don’t think he liked what I said at all. “You gonna do it?” he asks, his voice quiet.

I shrug. Part of me tells me I shouldn’t. The other tells me I have to. Don’t know what I’m going to fucking do. “I’m the best person for the job.” That, I know, is the fucking truth. Already pushed him once to snapping. Can do it again. Would be all too easy.

Still don’t know if I want to fucking _do_ it, though. But part of me does. The part of me that wants pain more than anything. And I don’t want _that_ to be why I fucking do it. Want to fucking do it so that it’ll make things right. Make things better.

“Um, dude?” Wes asks, snapping me from my thoughts. “Are you forgetting he tried to kill you?”

Nope, haven’t forgotten that. Still feel his hands around my neck when I jerk off. Can’t fucking stand using _that_ as a sexual fantasy, so I stopped doing _that_ , too. For a little while. Then I had to go and fucking push Calla. Only think of _that_ , now, when I do. “Whatever,” I snort. “That’s all in the fucking past. I’m over it. I’ll be fine.”

Don’t know if Brendan would be, though, if we did it. Not sure I would be, either. Guess I’m just trying to convince myself as much as I’m trying to convince Wes.

Wish he’d just tell me not to do it. Don’t think he’s going to as he turns his attention back to the game, the frown on his face deepening. He looks as torn as I fucking feel, right now.

Guess I’ve got no choice but to go through with it.

***

Even when I think I might have a fucking excuse not to go through with the deprogramming, Kalen goes and reassures me that Brendan fucking wants it, too. Guess he doesn’t like being able to almost kill people like that. Doesn’t like the lack of control anymore than I do.

Almost want to fucking talk to him. Still can’t bring myself to talk to Wes. Been letting him get too close again; can’t fucking stay away from him.

Been feeling the urges a little less than usual, too. I guess having a fucking plan has made them calm down, some. Or maybe it’s just been Wes, and the way he’s been hugging me. How his arms fucking linger around me. How he fucking smiles whenever he sees me, like I can do no fucking wrong.

Think I’m spiralling, but in a different way, now. Think I might actually believe those smiles -- or that I could, one day, if I fucking let him in a little more. If I told him about everything. Don’t think I fucking can, though.

Even during the meeting, he keeps giving me these little looks. Talking about stealing one of the fucking suits I’ve been working on -- even though I fucking designed the neural interface there’s no way to mass disable them. Don’t know how we’re gonna fucking use it, though, but why not? Let’s steal the damn prototype.

One less fucking suit out there, that way.

Hard to fucking keep my voice steady as I fill the others in on the specifics of the suit. On how it works. How it doesn’t. Don’t think Brendan and Calla are fucking paying attention -- think she might be fucking worse than I am.

Try not to think about that as I talk about the project. Try not to think about how the urges creep up a bit, too, just fucking talking about it. Now’s not the fucking time. Never fucking giving in to them again, as long as I can fucking help it.

When the meeting’s over, I start cleaning up. Try to keep my mind off of everything. Just try and think about how I’m gonna kick Wes’s ass at SimFighting. How he’ll probably cop a feel during it. Almost make myself smile at the thought.

“Hey.”

Fucking scream and drop my bottle of cleaning solution. Brendan’s voice. Take a moment to collect myself. Don’t want to fucking talk to him. Don’t know why he’s still sitting behind me when I turn around.

“Um, hi?” The fuck does he want? My heart fucking skips a beat -- maybe he doesn’t want to fucking do the deprogramming after all? One can only fucking hope.

“I just --” Brendan starts. Fucking falters, shuffling his feet. Guess he doesn’t really want to be alone with me right now, either. “I just wanted to talk to you about the explosive suit.”

Of course he fucking does. Bite my lip. Don’t want to think about that fucking suit anymore than I already have to. Don’t want to remind myself that it’ll get a whole bunch of people fucking killed. That I fucking developed it, made it possible. Notice Brendan’s looking at me. Guess he wanted a fucking response? Shake my head, try to quell the fucking urges sneaking up on me again. “Oh, yeah. The suit.”

“Who’s gonna be the one to _wear_ it?” he asks. “You know, once we’ve stolen it?”

“Think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” I tell him, turning back to the laserboard behind me. Think I might be smirking a little, too. “Don’t even _have_ the suit yet.”

“I _know_ , but if Calla can’t wear it, that just leaves me and Kalen, right?” Think I might have pissed him off a little, the way he’s breathing in deep now. Ignore how I want to jump all over that, how I want to push him a little harder. “You and Wes can’t fight very well. Neither of you would go in there.”

Turn around again at the mention of Wes’s name. “Fucking _work_ there, don’t I?” Didn’t even want to fucking work there in the first place. _Need_ to, if we’re ever gonna fucking _do_ anything meaningful about the War. But these fucking suits -- the blood that’ll be on _my_ fucking hands -- “Fucking designed the suit. All my f--” Cut myself off, notice how shrill my fucking voice got. Get it fucking together, dude. Can’t lose your shit now. Not in front of _Brendan_. Clear my throat, get my voice under control. “Yeah, man. I’d never go in there. Be fucking suicide for me to do that.”

Except part of me doesn’t exactly give a shit -- pretty sure Brendan already fucking knows that.

“Here’s the thing,” Brendan starts. Seems like he’s struggling to keep his voice fucking even, too. “If Calla’s part of that mission, I’m going with her. She could die in there, maybe, and I need to protect her. If that means I’ve got to wear the suit, I’m all for it.”

He _would_ want to fucking protect his girlfriend. Fucking get that. “Whatever,” I mutter, turning to cleaning the table. Avoid his fucking eyes. “Wear the suit. Risk your fucking life if you want to. Fucking fine by me.”

Should be fucking me walking into WeaponsDev wearing the damn suit, but I don’t fucking say that. Don’t want to fucking think about _anyone_ risking their damn life -- not even fucking Brendan. And he’s fucking _thanking_ me for saying he could wear the suit, too. Can’t help hugging myself. Can’t stop fucking thinking that this guy is going to fucking let me break him.

That I would just let him fucking break me, too.

My mouth is moving before I can even fucking stop it. “H-Hey, Brendan?”

“Yeah, man?” Brendan stops. Fucking turns around and looks at me. Can’t stop myself from fucking shaking. “Um... you okay?”

“Y-Yeah, I’m fucking splendiferous, okay?” Look away from him. Shove my fucking hands in my pockets, too. Ignore the fucking sudden urge to claw up my arms. “Just -- Just wanted to ask you something. This deprogramming thing -- you think it’s a good idea?”

I know Kalen told me he fucking agreed, but I need to hear it from him. Need to know I’m not the only one who’s fucking crazy enough to think this might be the thing to do. He looks torn. Don’t know what I fucking expected.

“I don’t want to kill people, Devin -- not even you.” Look up at him. Watch him as he talks. He looks so fucking determined, almost fucking desperate. “We both know you provoked me, and I don’t even think I want to know exactly why.” He really fucking doesn’t. “Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s fucking sick and you need to stop it before anyone else gets hurt.”

How many times can someone say that to me before it starts to fucking sink in? Not sure it’s ever going to, at this rate. Think he might have said his piece when he continues. “But none of that changes the fact that I knew you wanted me to snap, and I did it anyway because I couldn’t control myself. There’s a monster inside me, and I need to do anything I can to be free of it.”

Feel my eyes fucking go wide at that. How my heart fucking stops and jumps into my throat. Think, just for a second, that maybe _Brendan_ would fucking understand. Don’t know how to fucking reach out to him, though. Don’t know if I fucking can. “Fucking know the feeling,” I mumble. Hope it’s fucking enough.

When he walks out of the room, I know it wasn’t.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66598.html)


	10. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Ten

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/72327.html)

Tomorrow’s the fucking day. The day I get to trap myself in a room and push all of Brendan’s buttons until he snaps. All in the name of making up for all of the shit I’ve pulled. Try not to think about it much. Playing Kalen at SimFighting keeps my mind off of things.

Want to keep it that way. But it’s fucking hard. This -- this is supposed to make things right. Make it so I can fucking deserve Wes. Or at least _kinda_ deserve Wes. I know he doesn’t want me to do this. But I have to. I fucking have to.

Not what I want to think about, though. Can’t stop thinking about it. Still doesn’t keep me from kicking Kalen’s ass, either. Dude’s failing harder at this than usual. “C’mon, Kalen. Fucking get it together,” I snicker. “This is like playing Wes. Too fucking easy.”

Love shit-talking. Can always rely on Kalen not to take it well. Amuses me. Good thing Wes isn’t here to hear me make fun of _him_ , too. It’d hurt his feelings. Kalen looks deep in thought, a small frown on his face.

“I’m having trouble focusing.” Like I couldn’t tell. “Aren’t you nervous about tomorrow?”

Have to hold back a snort. _Kalen’s_ fucking nervous about it? “Not fucking nervous,” I mutter, keeping my eyes on the game. Take out Kalen’s SimFighter yet _again_. “Wasn’t until you mentioned it, at least.” Bullshit, but I’m not telling him that. “Doesn’t fucking matter, does it? Too late to change our minds now.”

Get another game started while I wait for Kalen to say something. Don’t want to think that even _he_ might be having fucking second thoughts. Just then, the front door flies open. “I’m home!” Wes. Always comes home the same fucking way every time. Can’t help but mouth, “Anyone miss me?” as he says it.

But he sounds fucking subdued. He still hollered it, just not like he always does. Unsettles me, a little. I jump up from the couch, walk over to the RoboCart. “Let me help you,” I tell him. Then I fucking look inside the cart. Feel my eyes get wide. “Did you buy everything in the fucking store, Wes?”

“Well, we needed meat for the grill, and a FlameXcelerator to run it.” He pauses. Makes that face he gets when he’s deep in thought. Fucking adorable. “Of course, I picked up some snacks for later. There was a sale on laserworks, so I got some in every color. Oh, and SynthAle! It’s a party, right? I kinda figured it would help us get in the mood to celebrate.”

Don’t think I’m gonna be having any of that. Last time I drank, Wes ended up in my bed. Everything went to shit. “Don’t think I’m much of a drinker, Wes,” I say, wincing.

Wes gives me a sympathetic look. Guess he remembers the last time we drank, too. “Aw, Devin,” he says -- I can see him lift his hand as if he were gonna put it on my shoulder, but he stops. “It’ll be okay, I promise. You need to relax, okay?”

Don’t know if I fucking can, but I know I’m gonna at least try. For Wes.

***

Gotta admit, I’m amused with how much effort Wes is putting into that damn FlameXcelerator. It’s cute, watching him struggle. Don’t want to offer to help just yet. Know that he might get more frustrated if I do too soon. So I sit back in one of the lawn chairs Brendan and Calla bought a while back, enjoy the show while I can.

“You two are going on a mission tomorrow?” Brendan asks.

Wes doesn’t answer. Still too busy struggling with the FlameXcelerator. Poor guy. Ignore the knot in my stomach at the idea of him going out on a mission with Kalen. As clueless as Kalen is and as uncoordinated as _Wes_ is, it could mean disaster.

“So, Wes,” Kalen starts, “Tell Brendan about the mission.”

This should be good. He didn’t even tell me about this -- but I guess he didn’t want me to worry. He wants me to relax, after all. Kinda hard to, though. Knowing what I have to do tomorrow.

How it might feed my stupid urges that I can’t get to go the fuck away.

“Yeah,” Wes grunts. He’s almost _too_ frustrated now. “There’s supposed to be --” he stops again, still fighting the FlameXcelerator. Consider getting up and offering him my help. “-- some kind of secret underwater base, so we’re gonna -- dude, why won’t this stupid thing _open_ already?”

Time to help. I get up from my chair and walk over to him. “Let me do that for you,” I mutter, standing in front of him. He gives me a little nod, stepping out of my way as I bend down to study the FlameXcelerator. Might just be stuck -- have to snicker to myself that Wes isn’t strong enough to get it open. Could ask Brendan, but I think he and Calla are about to start sucking face so I might as well not bother.

“So anyway,” Wes starts, his voice sounding more cheerful already. Good. “We’re gonna drive out to the seaside tomorrow and look for that secret base. I’m an awesome swimmer. It’ll be fun, kinda like a vacation.”

Damn, it’d sure be nice to go along with them. It _could_ be fun. Certainly more appealing than being stuck in a room with Brendan all day. I shudder, then notice a small valve Wes seems to have missed.

Fuck! I yelp as twisting the valve makes flames shoot at least ten fucking feet in the air. Stumble back, some. Fall into Wes -- surprised he didn’t fucking fall over when I did.

Feel Wes lean forward as he helps me get steady on my feet. “Gotcha,” he whispers, his breath brushing against my ear.

Ignore the shiver that goes through me. Can’t stop my fucking grin, though. “Fixed it.” Could always turn around and kiss Wes right now. Fucking almost. Except then I feel his hand on my ass. Feel him giving it a tiny squeeze -- and just like that, his hand is fucking gone.

As if I fucking wouldn’t _notice_ that. Ignore how my face gets hot as I move away from him. Seeing the triumphant expression on his face makes me fucking wonder -- better not to ask him in front of everyone, though. Not like him to fucking prank me like that, anyway.

Once we’ve got the flames under control Wes starts getting the food ready. I’m fucking starving, and it doesn’t take him long to get everyone fed. Everyone’s drinking SynthAle, too. Can’t bring myself to fucking touch it.

Everyone seems a little subdued. Kalen keeps almost pacing. Brendan and Calla have toned it down a bit. And Wes isn’t talking as fast in my ear as usual. Guess we’re all nervous about tomorrow. As it starts to get dark out, Wes pulls out the laserworks.

“Dude, let me set those up,” I tell him, brushing him aside. Make sure to grab _his_ ass while I do so -- the little yelp that escapes him makes me grin. How’s it feel, asshole? Fucking tired of having you grab my ass when I least suspect it. Payback’s a bitch. “Don’t want you fucking destroying the house with these things.”

“Aww, I know what I’m doing, Devin,” he says, pouting. “Just trust me, okay?”

I look at him. Raise an eyebrow before sighing and shaking my head. “Alright, dude. But if you fucking set the house on fire --”

“I promise I won’t!” he exclaims, grinning again. “Just watch, dude! I have this awesome idea.”

Then he fucking dashes towards the back of the yard. Starts setting up the laserworks like it’s the last thing he gets to fucking do. Takes him at least an hour before he’s satisfied. How many of those fucking things did he _buy_?

When he steps back and dusts off his hands, he’s got this giant grin on his face. Looks back at us, the grin growing even wider. How the fuck does he manage that? “Anyone got a light?” he asks. “I only need one,” he clarifies.

I see Calla get out of Brendan’s lap for the first time tonight. She walks over to the arranged laserworks. “What’ve you got planned here, Wes?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Light this part --” he gestures to a single laserwork, one towards the end, “--right here, and see what happens!” Wes claps his hands together, almost bouncing up and down.

Pretty sure Calla’s just planning on lasering the part Wes gestured to when he steps back. He goes to sit down on the empty lawn chair -- guess Kalen went inside? Haven’t seen him in a while.

“Wait! We need to get Kalen out here!” Wes says, stopping Calla. “He’s gotta see this, too!” And then he’s fucking gone, just like that. Can’t keep my own smile off my face. He’s got his arms around Kalen’s, dragging him outside with us. Kalen looks annoyed. “Go ahead and light it now, Calla!”

“Sure hope you knew what you were doing, Wes,” I call back to him as I walk over to him and Kalen. He lets Kalen go, who then sits down on the lawn chair.

“So do I,” I hear Calla mutter under her breath. Have to hold back a laugh at that. Stand next to Wes -- notice how big his eyes are. Then Calla lasers the exact spot with pinpoint precision. Walks back over to Brendan and turns around just in time to see the first laserwork go off.

Somehow this sets off a chain reaction with the other laserworks. Wes fucking squeals, clapping his hands again. Don’t know how many go off, don’t care. Not when Wes looks so happy -- and the show he came up with looks _awesome_.

Then I feel his hand slip inside my own. I whip my head over at him, notice the grin he has on his face has softened, somewhat.

Can’t help but smile back and let my fingers intertwine with his.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66839.html)


	11. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Eleven

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66598.html)

The laserworks show’s finally over and everyone else moves inside. Guess Brendan and Calla wanted more privacy. She had barely fucking left his lap all night. Kalen went inside not long after them. It’s just Wes and me, both of us going around the yard and picking it up some.

“Y’know, Wes,” I say over my shoulder, blowing a loose strand of hair out of my face. “That laserworks show was fucking _epic_. How’d you learn how to _do_ that?”

“Learned it back home, dude,” he answers. Can hear the amusement in his voice. “Kinda used to do shows like that all the time.”

Right. Forget sometimes Wes comes from a wealthy family. Parties like this were probably the norm for him. Still don’t get why he even came with me to the Other Side.

But I guess I kinda do. Kinda always have, if I stop to think about it. He walks over to me, puts a hand on my shoulder. “I think the yard’s clean enough, dude. Wanna go back inside?”

I kinda don’t. I gesture to the lawn chairs. “Why don’t we stay out here a little longer?” I murmur. Manage a small smile at him as I brush my hair out of my face. Feeling kinda twitchy about it, but don’t wanna fix it, either.

Wes smiles back. We both walk over to the lawn chairs, each of us taking our own. Almost pull him over to mine, but even after holding hands with him I’m not sure how much he’s okay with. I break down and fix my hair, struggling to find words to say.

Haven’t been alone with him like this since he’s been back. Been too afraid to. And with tomorrow being the day I try and deprogram Brendan, don’t even know what I _can_ talk about that won’t make both of us uncomfortable.

He scoots his lawn chair closer to mine. Our eyes meet as he grabs my hand again, squeezing my fingers. “You still nervous about tomorrow, dude?” he asks.

I look away from him. Don’t pull my hand away, though. Don’t want to. “Don’t wanna talk about that,” I say, sighing.

“It’s okay if you are, Devin,” he says after a moment. Can hear his concern. “Did you have fun tonight, at least?”

“Yeah,” I answer, turning back around. Offer him a smile. “I did.” All thanks to him. Can feel my heart flutter in my chest. Fucking ignore it and look out at the backyard. “Maybe we should fucking plant something back here. Too fucking barren.”

Wes scrunches his nose at that. “Dude, you know I _hate_ flowers.”

“Doesn’t have to be fucking flowers. Can just be grass for all I care. It’s just so...bare.” Smooth, Devin. Talking about flowers. Wes’s right, you know he _hates_ flowers. Still, can’t fucking think of anything else to say.

“You know, Devin,” Wes starts, his voice cracking some. “I thought you hated me.” Wes’s voice is so small. Almost don’t catch it as the wind picks up around us.

“What? Dude, no, Wes, I could _never_ fucking hate you.” It’s the fucking truth, too. Never could hate Wes. Wouldn’t _want_ to hate Wes.

“I mean, when I left --”

It’s my turn to squeeze _his_ fingers. “Wes.” Try to ignore how my own voice shakes. Don’t like the way his voice sounded. “We don’t -- we don’t have to talk about _that_ , if you don’t want to.”

He nods, his face scrunching up some. Looks like he’s about to fucking cry. “I dunno, dude,” he says after taking in a shaky breath, “I think we need to talk about that.”

Want to hug him. Think I should. Just this fucking once. Best I can manage is an arm around his shoulders. Can feel them relax under my arm. “Y’know, dude. I never did fucking thank you for saving me.”

Don’t want to tell him he’s saved me in more ways than one. Don’t want him thinking I’m just changing the subject either, so I clear my throat. “I never meant for things to get so fucked up.”

“Me neither, dude,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t -- I shouldn’t’ve accused you of -- of treating me like that.”

I wince and look away again. “I didn’t even realize you fucking _knew_ about that,” I admit. Fucking hard admitting it, too.

“Dude, I know just about _everything_ about you. Sneaking out at night? Wasn’t that hard to figure out after we had been living together for long enough.”

He knows everything about me, except my fucking deep, dark secret. Knows nothing about the urges, how I crave pain, how I sought it out when he was gone. Knows none of that.

Yet I think that even if I told him about that, he’d still fucking accept me. Still fucking _love_ me. At least, I think he does.

“I’m sorry -- I never wanted you to know.” Okay, didn’t mean for it to sound like that. But Wes laughs. Shakes his fucking head.

“You don’t need to protect me, dude. It’s okay if you like sex that much.”

I do. But I haven’t had any since I last saw Randall. Ignore the way my chest tightens at the thought. The way my ribs ache. “I do like it -- a lot,” I mutter, smirking at him. I tighten my arm around his shoulders. “Haven’t had any in a while though.”

He turns to look at me, his eyes growing wide. Then it’s like he connects the dots. Don’t need to tell him about Randall -- that doesn’t even count. Didn’t go to him for sex, I went to him for pain. Wes then smiles at me, causing me to raise an eyebrow.

“I could change that,” he breathes, pressing his lips to mine. Feel my own eyes widen before I let myself melt into the kiss. Cup his face, too. Almost can’t fucking believe this is real all over again.

We continue the kiss for a while, tongues moving slow. Almost hesitant on his end, too, even though he’s the one who made the first fucking move, this time. When we break apart, can’t stop myself from trailing my fingers down his neck. Love the way he fucking shudders at that. “You could,” I say, “‘slong as you’re on top.”

Wes grins and grabs my hand. Pulls me out of the lawn chair and back inside the house. Almost think he’s taking me back to my room when he pulls me into his. The door’s just about shut when he shoves me up against it, lips pressed against my neck. I gasp, throwing my head back.

Being shoved against the door like that hurt -- the urges try to resurface. Squash them down. Not tainting sex with Wes with my stupid cravings. Don’t need to focus on the pain to get hot. Already am as Wes’s tongue trails along my collarbone. As his hands reach up my shirt. Love the way they feel against my skin. Love that he’s so fucking impatient he couldn’t even get me to his bed to start feeling me up.

He then presses into me. Grinds against me as he spreads my legs. Fucking hell. Don’t even stop him when he goes and picks me up. Carries me over to his fucking bed. Has my pants down my hips already, exposing me. His hand is on my cock, teasing me while the other pulls up my shirt. As he strokes me, he’s kissing and biting my chest. Guess he remembered I like pain. But even his bites aren’t hard. More like impatient. Desperate.

I kick my pants off from around my ankles. Spread my legs wider. _He’s_ still clothed -- not sure if he wants this to be a down and dirty fuck or if he wants to make this more sensual. Doesn’t matter to me either way.

Never thought I’d get to have this, again. Never thought I’d get to feel his hands on my body. Or the weight of his on top of mine. Tell myself I should savor it -- that we shouldn’t rush.

But then I remember last time. Remember that I’m gonna be locked in a room with Brendan for who knows how long. And I realize none of that fucking matters. Not right now. I pull him close, grind against him as I kiss him. “There’s no need to rush, Wes,” I tell him. Echo his own fucking words from last time. “There’s plenty of time.”

His eyes are shining again. He then smiles at me, almost as if he were doing so in slow motion. “There’ll _never_ be enough time.”

My own fucking words. The weight of them fucking hit me -- still can’t believe I even fucking said that. Don’t think Wes could believe it, either, when I said it. When he leans in and kisses me again, I pull him as close as possible.

Not fucking letting go of him, not this time. Don’t want to. Never _did_ want to. Don’t think _he_ did, either, the way he’s holding me now. The way he’s kissing me. When we pull apart, we’re both breathless. His hand moves down my body, grips me again. He’s going slow. Teasing the ever living fuck out of me.

When his mouth begins moving down my body I can’t stop the moan that escapes my lips. Been too fucking long. Still have my legs hanging over the edge of the bed. Feel him kneel between them. Prop myself up on my elbows. Have to fucking watch.

He looks up at me and smirks before licking just below the tip. Teases along the head of my cock. The whole time his eyes are watching my face. Gauging my reactions. Want to fucking force his head down further. Need to fucking feel his whole mouth around my cock again.

But then his tongue slides down me from tip to base, then going even lower. Spreads my thighs and pushes them up. As his tongue moves to my ass, I fucking squirm. Don’t let just anyone fucking rim me.

Would let Wes do whatever the fuck he wanted to me, no questions fucking asked, though. And, oh fucking _god_ , he knows how to use his tongue. Knows just how to drive me fucking insane. Can’t stop gasping, now. Can’t fucking keep myself propped up on my elbows. Lay back down, let myself get louder as he swirls his tongue around. Try and reach for his hair, dig my fingers in it.

Fucking wish he’d just flip me over. Fuck me rough -- but not _too_ rough. Know Wes wouldn’t hurt me, not the way I used to crave it. Gonna let him move at his own pace, though. Let him figure out what he wants to do to me and when.

Who the hell am I to tell him no? As much as he fucking wants me, he can do whatever the hell he wants. I’m just about to start begging for more when I feel his tongue move back up again as his fingers press against me. Pushing in. Try not to tense around him too much -- let him finger me while takes just my tip into his mouth.

Feels fucking _amazing_. Being too loud, now. I fucking know it. Don’t fucking care. Calla and Brendan have been loud for fucking months. My turn to be as loud as I want. As loud as _Wes_ obviously wants me to be, the way he keeps working me over with his fingers. The way his mouth is taking more of me, inch by fucking inch.

Think I’m gonna go over the edge when he stops sucking me off. Keeps fingering me, though. Can feel his eyes on me again as he stands up a bit and leans over me. Kisses my fucking neck. “I love doing this to you,” he breathes in my ear just as grab at him, start pulling his shirt over his head. Want to take off those pesky pants of his, too. Want him to fuck me.

“You’re fucking teasing me,” I gasp out, rocking myself against his fingers. Feel him brush against my spot and yelp when he does. “Need your cock in me, Wes. Need it _now_.” I’m fucking whining.

“Thought you said not to rush...” he mutters, grinning at me. Want to glare at him. Fucking can’t, though, because he then pulls his fingers out of me. Slips his pants down his hips, freeing himself.

“I know what I fucking said,” I moan, rolling my eyes. “Fucking _need_ you, though.” Don’t know how to make that any fucking clearer, either.

But then he presses himself against me, grinding a little. Just enough to get me gasping again. Writhing against him. Can feel him push just a little further, a little deeper. Keeps going fucking slow -- know he doesn’t want to hurt me. Don’t want the pain, either. Not now. But I want him so bad that it doesn’t matter to me if he _does_ hurt me.

Grab his hips. Dig my nails in and push him in me a little deeper. Then he fucking _thrusts_ into me. Forces himself all the way in. My breathing’s ragged now. Try and control the level of pain. Try not to let it fill me.

I _do_ grab the sheets of his bed. Feel my cock twitch as he starts moving in and out of me. Fucking can’t believe he’s fucking me over the edge of the bed like this. That he’s fucking throwing my legs over his shoulders. Pounding into me. Almost bending me in fucking half.

That look of concentration on his face is what fucking does it for me, though. Like I’m the only fucking person in the world, right now. That getting me to scream my damn head off is all he cares about. Like my pleasure’s the only thing that matters. Never been fucked like that before.

When he takes me into his hand again, I arch my back. Squirm harder. Try and match his thrusts. Want him to feel good, too. Want him to come in me. Want him to keep filling me over and over.

He slams into my spot. Not making human noises anymore -- neither is he. Not as I tighten myself around him on purpose. Fucking want to drive him wild, just like he’s driving _me_ wild. I come fast, the ache in my whole body building and releasing within seconds. Cry out his name.

When Wes comes, he gasps mine out. Hottest thing in the fucking world. Even better when he collapses ontop of me, breathless, huge fucking grin on his face. Try and move myself so that we can both lie on his bed, him holding me in his arms. Both of us half-naked and sweaty. I’m gonna want to shower soon, but I want to fucking cuddle, first.

I just hope I don’t fuck this up again.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/68080.html)


	12. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Twelve

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/66839.html)

Can’t fucking sleep. Not even with Wes draped over me, our limbs fucking tangled together. Still can’t believe that happened. Can’t believe how much I needed it. How much _he_ needed it.

But now I can’t get my fucking mind to shut up. Keeps wanting to think about tomorrow. About how I’ll be locked in a fucking room with Brendan for who knows how fucking long. Pushing his buttons. Letting him push mine in return without him even fucking knowing it. Wouldn’t be surprised if he _did_ know it. He _is_ dating Calla. Doubt she wouldn’t have at least told him about my secret.

Don’t want to think about _that_ , either. Pull Wes closer to me. Try and watch his face as he sleeps. Looks so fucking peaceful -- but even I can see the way his face scrunches up just a bit. Must be worried about tomorrow, too. At least _he’s_ getting some sleep? He’s got a mission tomorrow, too. With Kalen.

Don’t want him to go. Don’t want him to _be_ here, though, when I try to deprogram Brendan. Don’t want him to see me get hurt -- _if_ I get hurt. Not gonna get hurt, damnit. Not gonna let myself give in to my own urges.

Can feel them creep up on me. Can just imagine how it’d feel to scrape my arms up. Won’t do that. Not with Wes right here. Not at all. Can’t. Refuse.

Feel Wes’s breathing change against my chest. Hold him tighter. He makes these small, whimpering sounds in his sleep. Fucking breaks my heart. Want him to be okay. Want _me_ to be okay. For his sake.

Somehow manage to sleep once he relaxes against me.

***

“You look like an angel with your hair down like that.”

Wes. Must be Wes. I crack open an eye, notice him staring down at me as I lie in his bed. He’s grinning at me.

Except even with how little sleep I got, I can fucking tell there’s something wrong. Can’t remember what. Don’t care what. Close my eyes, roll over towards Wes. “Too early.”

“Aw, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, dude,” Wes whispers in my ear. Almost certain something’s off. He’s not kissing me. Know he would be, after last night.

My eyes fly open. Realize today’s the fucking day. Not ever this awake in the mornings but can’t fucking shut up my brain now, either. Don’t even know how much sleep I fucking got. Not enough, I’m sure.

“‘Sokay, Wes,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes. Hope the dread can’t be fucking seen on my face. Like I need Wes trying to talk me out of this now.

Kinda want him to, still. Not sure if I can do this. If this is even a good idea. Brendan’s all fucking for it, though. Wants to be fixed just as much as I want to make things right.

“I’ll go make you some SynthBrew then, dude,” Wes says, getting up from the bed. Should have bounced out of it, after what happened last night. He bends down, kissing me. “Wait here, okay?”

Except I fucking can’t. Make myself get up. Throw my hair up into a messy ponytail. Not ideal but it’ll have to do. “I’m coming,” I grunt at him, walking over to him before he even leaves his room. He gives me an odd look, but otherwise doesn’t say anything.

House is quiet. Can’t even hear Brendan and Calla. Must still be asleep. _I_ should still be asleep. Know I fucking can’t. Want to make sure Wes’s okay. Walk into the kitchen together. Watch as he makes SynthBrew.

Don’t know what to fucking say. Don’t want to be alone, know I’ll fucking snap if I am. Can’t have that. Need to stay with Wes. But Wes’ll be leaving soon. I’ll have to deprogram Brendan soon. Don’t even notice my nails digging into my palms as Wes pushes a mug into my hands.

He’s too fucking quiet. Must be nervous, too. For all different reasons. Don’t want him to be. Don’t want him to worry about me. Put my mug down, pull him close. Can’t hurt myself but I _can_ do this.

Feel him tense in my arms first before he wraps his own arms around me. Difficult for me not to squirm away from him. Think I need the hug just as much as he does, though. Hear him sniff into my shoulder. Just hug him tighter in response.

“What’s wrong, Wes?” I ask. Don’t know if I can trust my own voice but do it, anyway. Need to be here for him. For fucking once in my life, need to take care of him. Not wallow in my own bullshit.

He pulls away from me, wiping at his eyes. He makes his way to the table, sitting down at it. Can’t help following him. Grab my SynthBrew and sit down next to him. Unlike him to leave me hanging like this. Guess he’s trying to think of what to say. As I gulp my SynthBrew down, he puts his face in his hands.

“I’m just worried, Devin,” he says through his fingers. “I don’t want you or Brendan to get hurt.”

I put my mug down. Cross my arms on top of the table and look away from him. Even take a moment to try and fix my hair. Need to think. Of course he’s fucking worried about the deprogramming.

“We’re not gonna get hurt, okay?” I try and reassure him. “Just doing what’s gotta be done, dude.”

“No, it doesn’t need to be done,” Wes says. He moves his hands away from his face. Can see the tears shining in them already. “Devin, you _know_ I think this is a terrible idea.”

Can’t stand seeing him like this. Don’t know what to fucking do to make it better, though. Should just tell him everything. Fucking can’t. Can’t find the fucking words. How am I gonna get him to understand that I _have_ to do this? To make up for all the shit I’ve done?

Guess I can start there. “Wes, I _have_ to,” I whisper. “Have to fucking make things right.”

Wish I could explain _how_ this would make things right. Not even sure, myself. Just know that it’s the only option I have. If I could do anything else, I fucking would.

“I still think it’s a really bad idea.” His voice is so fucking small. Like he can’t trust himself to speak. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Devin. How --” Poor dude’s voice cracks. Breaks my heart. Scoot my chair closer to him, hold his hand. “How is this supposed to fix anyting?”

Don’t know, but it fucking has to. If only I could fucking explain to him. If I could get it through his head that I need this as much as Brendan fucking does. If only I could fucking tell him what I did while he was gone. Except I don’t want him to worry worse. Don’t want him to know my fucking secret.

“You weren’t here, Wes,” I tell him. Feel my own throat close around my words. Fucking get it together, asshole. Keep fucking talking. Wes deserves to know this much. “You don’t know the kind of person I am.” He doesn’t. Doesn’t know that I’m a fucking addict, that I’m fucking addicted to pain. “Don’t know what I’m _really_ like. The fucking things I did. What I’m capable of.”

Pushed two fucking men to beat the shit out of me. All so I could get my next fix. Sexually assaulted one of them. Sexually harassed the other. Can feel my ribs ache at the memory. Can still feel Brendan’s hands around my neck.

Don’t fucking want to get so desperate for the pain again. Need a fucking way to stop it. If this’ll make that happen, I’m gonna fucking do it.

Wes’s staring at me, his eyes huge. Hurt. He then narrows them, pulling his hand away from mine. “I don’t know because you won’t _tell_ me, but none of that matters.” I’m surprised at how strong his voice is. How it doesn’t fucking shake. “Devin, how long have we known each other? There’s nothing you can tell me that’ll change what I think of you, what I _know_ about you.”

Except it might. It fucking might and that’s why I can’t fucking tell him. Keep my mouth shut as he continues. “I _know_ the kind of person you are, and I --” His voice cracks. Can tell he lost his fucking momentum.

For a moment I think he might say he loves me. Didn’t know how fucking bad I need to hear it until he doesn’t. Until he stops himself.

Then he grabs my hand again. Squeezes it so hard I think it might break. “Devin, I love you, okay, dude? There’s nothing you can do that will change that.”

My heart fucking stops. Just fucking stops. Can’t fucking breathe, either, as his words sink in, one by fucking one. Always thought he might love me -- thought that might be why he can’t stay the fuck away from me, even though he deserves so much better.

Before I even realize it, my face is wet and buried into his shoulder. Fucking sobbing, breaking down and don’t know how to fucking pull myself together. Except his arms are there. Fucking safe.

Want to tell him I love him, too. Don’t know fucking how. My voice isn’t fucking working. Don’t know how long I fucking cry, either. Feel him rub circles into my back, hear him tell me it’s okay over and over.

But it’s fucking _not_. Still need to do this. Still need to make shit right. “You don’t have to _do_ this,” Wes whispers, as if he were reading my fucking mind. “But you’re never gonna believe that, are you? Not even after last night.”

Feel my breathing even out at his words. Grip his shirt tightly, shake my head. “Fucking have to, Wes,” I gasp out. Don’t even bother to hide my tears from him as I pull away. “Gotta make shit right.”

Gotta do it, if not for me, then for _him_. So I can be who he fucking deserves. His own tears roll down his face, but he nods. Brushes the tears off of mine. “Just -- just don’t lose _yourself_ in there, okay, dude? Promise me that much.”

Don't know if I fucking can. Can't even give Wes that much. Can’t even tell him I love him.

Takes all my fucking effort not to look away from him in shame.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/68181.html)


	13. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Thirteen

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/68080.html)

Brendan and Calla come out of her room maybe an hour after Wes and Kalen leave. Try not to let my nerves show. Try to act as fucking normal as possible. Can’t fucking eat, though. Keep thinking about Wes.

He loves me. Fucking loves me. Despite all of the fucking shit I’ve put him through. Sip my SynthBrew. Let it roll down my throat. Brendan’s avoiding my eyes, shoveling his breakfast down. Not a fucking care in the world.

Guess _he_ isn’t nervous. Guess he doesn’t have to be. He’s not the one who’d get hurt, should something go wrong.

Well, if something should go _right_. I’m supposed to piss him off. Supposed to push him past his fucking breaking point, over and fucking over. Make him lash out at me. Make him confront his anger.

Last time I fucking pushed I got what I fucking wanted and then some. Stunning him was the only way to even get him off of me. Wanted to get hurt, then. Crave pain even now, just not as bad as before. Not anywhere near as bad as I did then.

Don’t even say a word to them as I fucking head away from the table. Need to be alone. Just for a little while. Calm my fucking nerves. Try not to think about Wes. What he asked of me. Don’t think I can fucking keep that promise. Don’t know what’s gonna happen in that room. All I know is that I’m not fucking looking forward to it.

_You don’t have to_ do _this_.

But I do. If I do this, I might overcome my own fucking issues as well. Might be able to ignore the high being in pain gives me. Might be able to rewire my fucking brain not to crave it.

Still, all I can fucking hear is Wes’s voice telling me over and over that this isn’t the way to fix things. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe there’s some other fucking way.

Just wish I knew what it was.

***

Don’t know how long it’s fucking been, but Calla knocks on my door. “C’mon, Princess,” she calls through the door. “It’s time.”

Right. Fucking time. I get up from my bed, try not to dig my nails into my palms. Gotta remain calm as the two of us walk down to the basement. Brendan’s already in the room, sitting down at a table we placed in the room. Calla’s talking about the emergency button -- don’t even let myself look at it.

I know where it fucking is. Designed it myself. Force myself to breathe as she talks. Keep it even. Steady. I can fucking _do_ this. Was meant to fucking do this. Provoking people is what I fucking _do_.

Except Brendan’s almost killed me before. Except I’ve wanted him to _hurt_ me before. Used him to hurt me. Could use him to hurt me, now. Have him give me that pain I fucking crave more than I do Wes.

The door shuts behind Calla as she leaves. Fucking trapped -- no, not trapped. Something else. Anything fucking else other than thinking of it that way. Can’t fucking keep my legs from shaking. Slam my hands on the table.

The stinging in my palms grounds me. Just enough to stop the shaking in my legs. But then I notice Brendan’s staring at me. Gaze never fucking wavering for a second.

Chest fucking tightens. Lungs can’t get enough fucking air, legs start to shake again. Can fucking hear my heart pounding in my ears. He almost killed me once. Trying to get him to do it again. Trying to get him to do it over and fucking over.

All I can fucking think about is his hands around my neck.

How much I want them there again.

Breathe in, stand up straight. Cross my arms. Dig my nails into my skin. Can’t fucking give in to the urges. But they’re there, fucking screaming at me, screaming at me to get on with it, to push Brendan’s buttons.

All I can fucking do to sit down in the empty chair across from him. All I can fucking do to keep my mouth shut. Can’t stop the fucking tears. Can’t stop the fucking pathetic whimpering noises crawling up the back of my throat.

_You don’t have to_ do _this_.

Wes. Fucking need him. Not even here. Couldn’t stand by and watch me destroy myself, even if he didn’t even fucking know that that’s what I’m doing.

_Just don’t lose_ yourself _in there, okay, dude_?

The tears fucking stop. Can’t breathe again, but not out of fucking fear.

He knew. He fucking _knew_. Meet Brendan’s eyes, tighten my jaw.

“You know what,” I manage, my voice cracking. “I’ve changed my fucking mind. Can’t fucking do this.”

Takes all of my fucking strength just to push the button. To ignore the urges. Can’t have Brendan hurt me all over again. It’d just be giving in. Just cause me to lose myself further.

And I can’t fucking do that to Wes. Not again.

***

It’s gotta be another couple of hours when I hear someone else knock on my door. “Devin? It’s me, dude. Can I come in?”

Almost don’t say anything. Want to pretend like I’m asleep, but I don’t. I climb out of my bed and walk over to the door. Let Wes in without so much as a word. His own face is wet, covered in tears. His eyes are hard, concerned.

“When were you gonna tell me you got hurt while I was away?” he breathes once the door’s shut behind him.

Feel my heart skip a beat. Want to look away from him, want to curl up into a ball and make myself as small as fucking possible. But he doesn’t deserve that. He deserves the fucking truth.

“I wasn’t,” I answer, trying to keep my voice hard. “Didn’t want you to fucking know.”

Truth. Still see the way it stings him, the way he almost flinches at my words. Figure Kalen must have told him. The clueless asshole didn’t even understand what it was I tried to tell him, anyway.

“Why not?” Wes asks. We’re both standing feet apart. Him leaning against my fucking door. Looks so tired, worn out. Small. “Damnit, Devin, why not?” he repeats, walking towards me. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?”

I wince. Shake my head. Don’t know what to fucking say. Wish I did. So maybe I could get him to stop looking at me like that. So I could get him to stop looking so hurt and betrayed. He fucking is, though. Didn’t tell him about anything. Didn’t let him in for so damn long.

Not even sure if I can even let him in now. Even though I know he loves me. Even though I know I love _him_. But he fucking deserves to know. Need to tell him, if we’re ever gonna move forward. If I’m ever gonna deserve him.

“I’m sorry, Wes,” I choke out, ignoring the stinging in my eyes. I sit down on my bed, put my face in my hands. Ignore the urge to grab my arms and dig my nail into them again. Still have marks from when I was in the basement with Brendan.

The marks. Could start with those. Ease into it. Pull my hands away from my face, look up at him. Eyes are still stinging -- can see his shining with tears, too. He hasn’t moved any closer. Doesn’t move any closer until I start pulling up my sleeves.

“Devin -- what are you doing, dude?” he asks, sitting down beside me.

Now or fucking never, asshole. Pull it together. Fucking tell Wes. “Wes, I couldn’t -- I couldn’t fucking do the deprogramming.”

“I know. Calla told me when I told her to call the whole thing off,” Wes whispers. Something’s weird about his tone -- is he -- was he _proud_ of me for calling it off? He puts a hand on my shoulder. “What happened while I was gone, dude? I know you didn’t fall down some stairs.”

Can’t hold back a bitter laugh at that. Can’t believe Kalen bought that fucking story. But as clueless as that idiot is, it’d almost be harder to believe that he didn’t. “You don’t wanna know, dude.”

Except I know he does. He does wanna know and I need to tell him. Avoid his eyes while I try and think of what to say. Breathe in, let it out slow. I can do this. I need to fucking do this.

“I saw someone -- after I left here, the day after Calla’s party.” Struggling for fucking words. Hope Wes gets what I mean.

The way his eyes widen, I think he does. “You mean you saw one of your ‘friends’,” he says, his voice quiet. Fucking bitter, too. Try not to wince at that.

“Yeah -- except um, he’s the only guy I’ve seen more than once.” Still fucking struggling. Don’t even attempt to look Wes in the eye. Just need to keep fucking talking. “Because he -- he’ll beat the shit out of me, if I ask him to.”

Wes’s hand falls from my shoulder. Rests itself in his lap. Can’t look him in the eye but I can watch his fucking hands. He always gestures with them when he talks. “You mean like while -- while having sex with him?” Can hear the confusion in Wes’s tone -- same with the desire to understand. His hands move -- but they’re just as subdued as his voice.

“Remember -- remember how I told you I like pain?” Find it in me to look up at him. To stop hiding my eyes from his. The way his forehead scrunches up, can tell he’s trying to connect the dots. He then nods, gives me this expectant look. “It’s -- it’s more than like, dude.”

I hold out my right arm. Run my fingers along some of the fresher scars from when I clawed up my arm a month and a half ago. Wes’s eyes follows my fingers, widening again. Think he notices the scars for once. “I’m -- I’m sick, dude,” I say, my eyes stinging again. “I _crave_ pain. Like it’s -- like it’s a fucking drug. Get high from it.”

Don’t want to tell him how I sought it out. How I turned to Brendan when I couldn’t get the levels of pain I needed through sex anymore. Wes’s hands are all of a sudden on mine, squeezing my fingers. “And you thought putting yourself in a room with Brendan and trying to make him snap was a _good idea_?” he almost shrieks.

Shake my head at that. Know it was a terrible idea _now_. But I gotta explain, gotta make him understand. “Wes, man, I had -- I had already _used_ him -- to get my -- to get my fix.” Voice fucking shaking. Wonderful. Avoiding Wes’s eyes again, too. “What happened during that last mission -- I fucking _wanted_ that to happen.”

Hear him fucking gasp. Hear a whimper as he struggles to pull _himself_ together. “That’s -- that’s why you wanted to make things ‘right,’” he cries, throwing his arms around me. He’s fucking crying into my shoulder, squeezing me tight. “Devin -- Devin, you could have _died_ , dude.”

Can feel the tears form in my own eyes. No anger. None. Not even for using Brendan for my addiction. Not from Wes. Just concern. Can’t help feeling awful. “Wes...I didn’t fucking care,” I whisper, wrapping my own arms around him. Back then, I fucking didn’t care. Would have convinced myself Wes and everyone else would be fucking better off without me. _Had_ convinced myself they’d be better off without me.

The admission just makes Wes weep harder into my shoulder. Don’t know if I can keep fucking doing this to him. “ _I_ would have -- would have cared!”

Wince again. I fucking know that, now. Fucking know how much it would have destroyed him had I died. Know how much it’d destroy me if _he_ died. Hold him tighter, notice how hard he’s fucking shaking. “I know, dude,” I tell him. I’m at a fucking loss of what else to say. Didn’t mean to upset him this much.

Don’t want to keep hiding from him, though. Want to fucking let him in. Just this fucking once. Feel Wes’s breathing calm down some as he gets his tears under control. Feel him pull away from me. He cups my face in his hands. Forces me to fucking look at him.

“How -- “ his voice cracks, “how bad is it, now?”

Feel my own eyes widen. Want to pull away. Want to avoid his eyes and I fucking can’t. Can see how bloodshot they are from crying. How they’re _still_ filling with tears. All because of me. All because of the shit I’ve done.

“ _How bad is it now_?” he repeats, his face scrunching up. “How badly do you want to get hurt, Devin? Do you -- is there anyway I can --”

“ _No_.” Surprise myself with how strong my voice is. “I can’t fucking let you do that. I don’t want -- I don’t want to drag you down with me, Wes. That’s why --” Now it’s my turn for my voice to crack. To get shrill. Clear my throat, let my own tears fall. “That’s why I even considered doing the deprogramming. Wes, I --”

“I wasn’t asking if I could -- if you wanted me to, to _hurt_ you, Devin!” Wes shakes his head, letting his hands fall away from my face. He wipes his own tears away with the back of his hand before brushing mine away. “I just -- if there’s any way to get you to _stop_ wanting the -- the pain --”

“You,” I choke out. “ _You_ stop me from -- from wanting it.” Most of the fucking time. Except when wanting Wes made the urges worse, too. But back then I thought I couldn’t have him. Thought I didn’t deserve him.

Still don’t know if I do.

“If -- if I stop you from wanting it, then why...?” He can’t even bring himself to finish what he’s asking. Think I know what he was going to say, anyway.

“Why’d I go get myself fucked up?” I ask, snorting to myself. “I had -- had already relapsed, dude. Started -- started ‘using’ again after Kalen fucked everything up.”

His eyes get huge. Can’t fucking stand seeing him in so much fucking pain. “How -- how did I not --”

Oh, fuck. Can’t stop myself from crying now despite how much I try and choke back my own tears. “Wes -- Wes, this isn’t your fucking fault, okay?” It’s fucking not. Not his fault I can’t get my shit together. Not his fault I didn’t let him in before everything already went to shit. “I made sure that none of the -- none of the bruises could be seen. Kept them covered. I didn’t want _anyone_ to know.”

“Why?” he moans. “Why hide this? I could have helped you -- looked out for you. Just like I always do, dude.”

“I thought -- I thought I had it under control.” I fucking did. Know I didn’t, now. Know I’m still struggling for control, too. Don’t know how to tell Wes that. Don’t know if I _want_ to tell Wes that -- he’s already so fucking worried about me.

“Obviously you didn’t -- not if you got hurt so bad that _Kalen_ actually noticed!” he cries. He shakes his head, his shoulders still trembling as he tries to get himself under control again. “None of that matters, though,” he says after a while, his breathing unsteady. “All that matters is taking care of you _now_.”

I want to argue. Want to tell him I’m not even worth fixing -- that I _can’t_ be fixed. But the way he’s staring at me, how he’s holding my hands, now, I fucking can’t. Manage to nod my head, instead.

His arms are just as welcoming and safe as ever when I fucking collapse into them, sobbing my own eyes out.

[Next Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/69438.html)


	14. Cliffton Fanfiction: Relapse - Chapter Fourteen

[Previous Chapter](http://theun4givables.livejournal.com/68181.html)

“Wes, we don’t need so many fucking lights this year,” I say, holding a bundle of lights in my arms. How many of these fucking things is he gonna put up? “Seriously, the house can be seen from the Other Side as it is!”

“Aw, but Devin -- this’ll only make the house even _prettier_!” He grins down at me, gesturing for me to pass him the rest of the lights. “Not as pretty as you, of course.” He’s fucking beaming, now.

Feel my face heat up. Ignore it as I pass him the lights. “Don’t fucking call me pretty, Wes,” I grumble. Can’t hide my smile, though.

“You know you like it, Princess,” Calla snickers from the other side of the roof. She finishes with her own string of lights. “I think I’m done over here, Wes.”

Wes hangs up the rest of his bundle of lights before climbing down. “Thanks, Calla!” he calls out to her. Don’t even get to enjoy the small peck he gives me before he’s running inside. “I’m gonna turn on the lights! Make sure they work!”

Can’t help shaking my head. Wintertide’s Wes’s favorite holiday. Doesn’t fucking matter to him that the people on this side don’t celebrate it -- he wants to do it every fucking year. Give out presents every fucking year.

This year’s not the same, though. Only four of us this year instead of the five from the last -- though the year before _that_ it was only me and him. Miss it that way, too. I shake my head again -- don’t need to fucking think about that now. Don’t need to think how we’re down one man, how long it took for all of us to recover from it.

Still get the urges. Still fighting them. Don’t want to give in to them again, for _my_ sake. For Wes’s. Brendan’s. Maybe if I had gotten my shit together faster -- maybe if I had let Wes in sooner --

No, asshole. You’re not gonna fucking think about that. Not now. Not when the lights on the house are brighter than the fucking sun in the middle of summer. When Wes’s smile is fucking brighter than _they_ are at the sight of them.

“I think you’ve outdone yourself this year, dude,” I tell him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Can’t help smiling back at him when he turns to me.

I’m fucking determined to make this our best Wintertide yet.

***

Later that night, I drag Wes out of the house. Need to fucking get away, just for a little while. Just us. Want to just climb on top of the roof and sit on it with him. Look out over the fucking neighborhood.

But that’s not enough. Not tonight. I want to remind him of home. Of the Wintertide lights on all the houses. Can’t fucking cross the fence, though, not anymore. Know the City’s my best bet. Not the fucking same, but it’s as close as I can fucking get.

He’s fucking bouncing in the passenger seat as I drive. Fucking talking a mile a minute. Non-stop. And I can’t stop grinning the whole time. I love him. Still haven’t told him, though I think he knows. Think he’s _always_ known.

That shouldn’t be enough for him. Somehow, though, it is. Just being next to me is enough for him. Just knowing I’m _okay_ is enough.

Yet, I know I’m not. Better than I was a year ago, but still struggling. I have him, though. And that’s all that fucking matters to me, at the moment. Grab his hand while I’m driving. Squeeze it, let him know I’m listening.

Picked a hotel room that looks out over the whole fucking City. He can stare at all of the lights, and we get a fucking night, just us. No Kalen. No Calla. Been saving up some money for it. Haven’t told him about it at all. Wanted it to be a fucking surprise.

The way his eyes get huge, think it fucking was. Pull the car into a space. He’s fucking wrapped himself around me, squeezing the shit out of me as we walk inside to check in. He’s still yammering away -- don’t even know when he fucking breathes. Shoulda passed out by now. Surprised he hasn’t.

His eyes are fucking shining as we make our way to the room. Can feel him fucking vibrate next to me in excitement. Haven’t even gotten to the room yet -- haven’t shown him the view he’s about to have of the City.

“You didn’t have to do all this, dude,” he breathes, snapping me from my thoughts once we’re in the eletube. “We coulda just stayed home and had a night to ourselves that way.”

I snort, wrapping my arm around his waist. Pull him close. “Dude, you fucking deserve a day off. Think of it as a mini-vacation with your boyfriend.” I grin at him before pressing my lips to his neck. “We can be as loud as we fucking want, too.”

He giggles at that. “You’re loud always, dude,” he says, tipping his head back some. I keep kissing his neck. Want to tease him, a little. Get him worked up.

The more worked up he is, the harder he’ll fuck me, after all.

“That’s because you know what you’re fucking doing,” I say, suppressing my own shiver as his hands slide up the back of my shirt. Push him up against the wall of the eletube. His gasp is like fucking music to my ears.

Too bad for him the eletube opens right then. He whines as I pull away from him, grabbing his hand and dragging him out into the hallway. Almost there. Get us in our room in record timing. The room is spacious -- don’t get the time to enjoy the lack of other people when Wes tackles me from behind and pushes me towards the bed.

Guess I worked him up a bit _too_ much.

***

Can still feel my heart pound in my chest minutes after we’re finished. Wes’s still got this huge grin on his face. Like he can’t fucking believe this is real, even after the last six months. Rest my head on his shoulder, tangling my legs with his.

“Aren’t you gonna take a shower?” he whispers, brushing my hair out of my face. He prefers it when it’s down. Can’t seem to stop touching it.

Fucking love it when he pulls on it during sex.

I shake my head -- don’t fucking need to think about that now. Instead, I lean up and kiss him. “Don’t wanna just yet,” I whisper back. I pull away from him, slide my boxers back on. Can see the doors that lead out to the balcony. Came here for a fucking reason -- wanted him to see the City. It should be dark enough, now.

“C’mon, I brought you here to show you something,” I say, pulling him out of the bed with me. Know he’s not even gonna bother putting his boxers back on -- the dude would walk around naked all the damn time if he could. Kinda hoping he does while we’re here. Just makes it easier to have sex again later.

He looks confused, but doesn’t ask any questions. Just follows me to the balcony. Think maybe we should have put on more clothes -- it’s gonna be fucking cold out there. When I pull the curtains aside, he gasps.

“Wow,” he breathes, his eyes taking up half of his fucking face. His grin’s gotta be taking up the other half. “That’s -- _wow_.”

The view must have made him fucking speechless. Can’t help grinning to myself. Can’t help pulling him out onto the balcony -- don’t give a shit that he’s naked. Pretty sure he doesn’t, either, as he looks out at the City. I wrap my arms around him from behind him. Rest my chin on his shoulder.

Now or never, dude. Gotta say it, while I still have the nerve. “Wes?”

“Yeah, dude?”

Take in a deep breath. Close my eyes. Open them again, turn him around in my arms so that he’s looking at me and not the City. Can’t fucking lose my nerve now. “I love you.”

Ignore how fucking hot my face is in favor of watching his eyes fill with tears. Happy ones. Because of me.

Then I think of all the _other_ times I’ve made him cry. Try not to think of them as he kisses me, his lips soft, almost hesitant. “I love you, too,” he whispers back.

Don’t know why he does. Don’t want to question it, either. It just brings back the cravings. Brings back the urges. Think he fucking senses my thoughts because he’s got that look on his face. The one he gets right before he reminds me that I’m not a horrible person.

Then he’s brushing my own tears away -- ones I didn’t even realize I shed. The fuck is wrong with me? Can’t I just fucking enjoy something, for once? Can’t I go more than a fucking day without wanting the pain?

“What’s wrong?” he asks -- as if he even fucking needs to. He’s bringing us both back inside the hotel room, shutting the curtains behind us.

Can’t even bring myself to look him in the eye. Don’t know to fucking tell him. Don’t _want_ to tell him that I still haven’t beaten my addiction. But if I don’t fucking tell him now, it’ll just continue to get worse. I fucking know it will.

So much easier to keep shit hidden from him. To pretend like nothing’s fucking wrong. But that’s not fair to him. Let him in months ago; can’t shut him out, now. Can’t. Fucking won’t.

“I still --” Cut myself off, sit back down on the bed. Let my hair cover my face. Fucking hide from Wes. Can’t figure out the words to say. He sits down next to me -- positive his eyes are fucking wide and full of concern.

This is the part where I fucking clam up. Don’t say anything else. Push him away. Same road I’ve always fucking gone down. Not this time. Not fucking doing it again. Not hiding anymore. I can’t.

Grip the edge of the bed so hard I’m pretty sure my knuckles are fucking white. Better to dig my nails into the mattress than to dig them into my arms. Or my palms. Don’t need the pain. Just want it. Can get past it. Can talk to Wes.

I lift my head. My hair falls out of my eyes and I look into his. Bite my lip before making a pathetic whining noise. “I still crave the pain, Wes.” Force the fucking words past my lips. Feel relieved once I do.

Wes’s eyes soften in an instant. Fucking hugging me seconds later. “It’s okay, dude,” he whispers in my ear. Can feel him run his fingers over my hair. Fucking soothing. How does he do that? Relax into his arms, bury my face against his neck. “I’ll make sure you’re okay, alright?”

That’s Wes. Always fucking taking care of me, whether I want him to or not. Can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Thanks, dude,” I tell him. It’s not enough. Need to show him, somehow, just how much I fucking appreciate him. What he does for me.

He just squeezes me tighter. Can feel his lips brush against my temple. His hand is then under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “No problem, man.” He flashes me a grin. “It’s okay if you’re not happy all the time, dude. It’s also okay if you crave it, still, as long as you don’t give into it.”

“Don’t wanna give into it.” I’m almost fucking whining as I say it. Still feel the tears coming no matter how hard I try to stop them. “Don’t wanna crave it, either.” So fucking frustrating. Why the fuck can’t I be _normal_?

“I know,” he says. There’s that fucking smile again. Feel my heart fucking melt. The tears must have stopped, too, because he’s no longer brushing them aside. “That’s what matters, dude -- you’ll get better eventually, okay? I promise.”

Want to tell him not to make fucking promises he doesn’t know if he can keep, but I fucking trust him. Trust him more than I do myself -- which isn’t saying much, all things considered. Manage a nod, though. Even manage to smile back at him.

Wes pulls me close again. Hugs me so hard it’s difficult to breathe. “We’re here to relax, dude -- I’m not the only one on this mini-vacation, remember?” he murmurs. Can fucking feel his breath against my neck.

Don’t realize it, but the way his breath ghosts across my skin causes me to squirm. Just a little. Enough so that _he_ noticed, though. Can feel him chuckle to himself. Fucking bastard starts planting small kisses against my bare shoulder and up my neck. Each one light. Teasing.

Squirming worse, now.Think I’m breathing a little heavier, too. Don’t care, though. Not as Wes pushes me down on the bed. Fucking gentle about it, too. Stretches himself out on top of me, his fingers threading through my hair. Brushing it away from my face. Then his lips are on mine as his fingers trail down the side of my neck. Fucking writhing, now. Can’t help it. Not when we both part our lips just enough to deepen the kiss.

If I thought Wes had tried to savor this all before, I thought fucking wrong. The way he’s kissing me now? Nothing like all those other times. Haven’t felt more loved during a kiss than I do right now. More wanted.

Almost don’t want him to break the kiss at all. But I’m already fucking hard again, too. Already aching for more. Can feel him press into my thigh, so I know I’m not the only one. Whine when he pulls away from me -- almost fucking grab him and pull him back down, except he pins my arms at my sides.

“The fuck, Wes?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Smirk at him, too, as I struggle to get my arms free. Doesn’t move his hands off my arms for a second.

Forget how strong he is, at times. Wish he’d fucking do more than pin me. The way he’s grinning at me now, I almost expect him to start biting me. He leans forward, starts kissing my neck as he straddles me. Want him to bite. _Need_ him to bite.

Except he doesn’t. Moves his way down my chest, kissing and sucking where he can but never fucking biting. Still squirm under him, though. Breathing fucking ragged. He _still_ hasn’t let go of my arms, still has me pinned to the fucking bed.

It’s so fucking _hot_. Yet it’s not enough. Not with the way he’s got me pinned. “W-Wes, dear fucking god, just _bite me already_ ,” I moan, throwing my head back against the pillows.

Almost expect him to bite me right then and there. Fucking doesn’t. Instead, he lets go of my arms as he dips his head lower. When his mouth surrounds me, it’s all I can fucking do not to moan too loud. His hands are holding my hips down, now. Nails not even digging in.

Driving me fucking insane, having his mouth around me like that and not getting the tiniest hint of teeth. He fucking _knows_ how much I like that, too. How I almost beg for it, most nights. About to beg for it now, except his tongue’s doing this amazing little thing to the underside of my cock. For a brief, shining fucking moment I forget about how much I want him to hurt me.

Only for a fucking moment, though. Dig my fingers in his hair, push him even further down my cock. “C’mon, Wes,” I whine, bucking my hips just the tiniest bit. “Fucking bite me already!”

He looks up at me before he stops blowing me. Gives me this pained look. “Devin, dude, you _know_ that’s a bad idea right now,” he whispers, his fingers wrapping around my cock as he talks to me. “I know you like it rough, but right now it’s not about me overpowering you to you. It’s about the pain.”

Feel my eyes widen at that before I throw my head back and look away from him. My eyes are stinging, feel my breathing hitch in my chest. At the same time, Wes resumes teasing me with his fingers.

Don’t wanna admit it, but I know he’s fucking right. Resist the urge to argue. If I push any harder I know he’ll stop. Don’t want to fucking stop. Feels too damn good, having his hand around me like that. Then I can feel his tongue swirl around my tip again. Let myself relax, again. Put my hands on the back of his head.

He obliges -- can see the smile in his eyes as he swallows me again, this time taking all of me in quick motion. Fuck, it’s amazing watching him just take me like that.

Still want him to bite me, but I ignore that. Don’t fucking need the pain. Just need to focus on Wes, what he’s doing to me now. Just as I’m starting to get close, he fucking stops again. Flips me over in seconds flat and pulls me up onto my hands and knees.

Shiver as his hands are on my ass. As he presses a couple of fingers in me dry without any fucking warning -- cry out. Think he’s getting impatient -- feel the bed shift as he reaches for the bottle of lube.

Ignore the tiniest bit of pain his fingers cause me. Don’t want to focus on it. Instead focus on how he’s fucking thrusting them in and out of me, how he’s pressing them against my spot. Whimper when they’re fucking gone.

His hands are on my hips again, holding me steady as he pushes himself inside me. Not like I’d fucking move away from him -- I want him so bad I’m moving against him, trying to get him as deep inside me as possible.

Feel him lean forward, kissing my back as he moves out of me at a fucking snail’s pace. He’s gotta be fucking teasing me. No fucking way he shouldn’t be pounding me, right now. _Want_ him to pound me.

Get my fucking wish as he then _slams_ into me. Almost can’t hold myself up. Try and brace myself as he keeps fucking going. Grip the sheets tight, too. Almost fucking screaming a he works me over, striking my spot over and over.

I’m touching myself long before he reaches for my cock, stroking me in time with his thrusts. Gotta hand it to him, he can be coordinated when he wants to be. Feels fucking amazing either way. Don’t want him to fucking stop. Don’t want to come -- not yet, not for a little while longer.

Can’t hold out when he digs his nails into my hip a little further than he meant to. That extra little spark of pain, along with him slamming into my spot, is all it fucking takes. Shout his fucking name as I come into his hand, my arms sliding out from under me a bit. Think I _feel_ him come in me moments later.

We both collapse onto the bed, me trying to avoid any wet spots on the sheets as I curl up against him. “That was fucking amazing, dude,” I manage between pants, kissing him. He beams at me, wrapping his arms around me. Doesn’t say a word. Not for a few minutes, anyway.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he says, his arms tightening around me. Get the feeling he wants to say something else. Not sure what else he would say -- though he always manages to find something to say.

Think I need to say something first, though. “Wes?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice fucking quiet. I’m looking away from him, too. Feeling my cheeks get warm again, this time in fucking shame. “For not -- for not fucking hurting me.”

Can’t believe I fucking tried to push for that. Keep telling myself I don’t want to fucking drag him down with me and even open up about still having urges, and yet I still went and fucking begged him to hurt me. Don’t know how he could even continue having sex with me after that. Feel disgusted with myself now, trying to get him to indulge me like that.

“I told you, dude. I’m gonna make sure you get better. Help you get over your addiction.” He pauses, kissing my forehead. “You’re not alone in this, Devin. Not as long as you have me -- and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You deserve to be happy, no matter how much you like to tell yourself you don’t. And I’m gonna make damn sure you’re happy, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I whisper. Want to say so much more. Don’t know if I can fucking trust my voice. Don’t know if I _need_ to say anything more than that. Because Wes’s right. I’m not alone. Never fucking was alone. Never _will_ be alone.

Because I’ll always have him. And even though it’s possible my addiction will never go the fuck away, _he’ll_ always be here to help me fight it. To remind me of what fucking matters, of how easy it is to slide into that fucking downward spiral. Never gonna lose myself to it again -- can’t, if I’m ever gonna be the man Wes deserves.

And I’m gonna, because being the man Wes fucking deserves is more fucking important to me than anything else in the world, right now. More important than the fucking pain. More important than giving in to the fucking urges.

Just wish I had realized that a whole lot fucking sooner.


End file.
